


Springtrap - Project Specter

by Noranum



Series: Springtrap [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Five Nights at Freddy's, No Romance, No Sex, Paranormal, Prison, Therapy, Undeath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-26 12:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 54,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15000818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noranum/pseuds/Noranum
Summary: Project Specter - The follow-up of Redemption (which now is kind of a prologue)In Project Specter, Springtrap goes through the ups and downs of therapy. His struggle to be a human being for the first time is paired with supernatural experience, as well as he gets to learn something about the circumstances that keep him on Earth. All that mixed with a nice spoonful of feelings, family, and grief.I promise it will get more interesting than that soon™, I just need to lay out some groundwork first.That said, you really should read trough everything that came earlier (even notes!) or you might be lost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Springtrap – Project Specter**

 

 

Five Nights at Freddy's, Freddy Fazbear Entertainment, Golden Freddy, Golden Bonnie, Spring Bonnie, Springtrap, William Afton and all other names and/or brands not listed here are property of Scott Cawthon.  
The plot this story is based on is property of Scott Cawthon.

 

This story is in no way meant to be considered official or canon.  
This story is not meant to glorify, induce or excuse violence, child abuse, rape, and murder, or their committees.  
This story is not based on real facts, locations, persons, enterprises, or events. Everything in here is to be considered made up. Also, it is not too closely knitted into the actual story of any game made by Scott Cawthon. Differences between this story and the actual plot of said games are part of the project.

 

**Please be aware that this story is placed in an alternate timeline that greatly differs from our world's history!**

 

I would like to thank GraWolfQuinn, Negaduck9, and Leda465 from DeviantArt for being sources of inspiration.

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**The hope of finding you.**

 

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 **02.12.2019 – Fancy Fur** (Project Specter: 1)

 

 

“So, how does it feel?”

“Strange. Really, really strange.”

Sandra snickered, and turned around again to take a look on the bunnyman. He did seem a little uncomfortable, would wiggle around and pull the fabric, but overall he seemed to be happier than he would like to admit.

“It has been years...”

“Jeans are always in fashion, Springy. I just hope these will make you feel a little bit more like a human again.”

He looked up, and was about to say something, but let out a sigh instead and went over to the chair to rummage through the bag. Sandra was still quite happy that getting some clothes for Springtrap had been easier than thought. As a plus size herself, she was used to pick up bits and bites from different stores. He was rather tall, yes, but the robotic suit was more or less humane in shape and therefore not off the charts. At first, Lena Jong’s suggestion had felt somewhat strange, but right now, it was rather obvious that this had been necessary.

“I guess the naked times are over, huh? No more artificial light on my artificial plush fur... what a shame.”

“Do you want to take this off again?”

“Hell no. Just horsing around. Well, bunny-ing. Whatever. Thank you for this. I admit, clothes were kind of the bottom of my list of concerns.”

“Nothing to thank me for. Wanna get back?”

“Uh... don't know?” and he quickly looked over to the guard as if to make sure that the armed officer was able to react as soon as something went off.

“Don't know what?”

“Part of me wants to get back to my cell, but... but. Dunno. I mean. It was all... smooth. Okay, we gave that one lady quite the shakes, but altogether... it... it does feel nice to be... out.”

Sandra smiled, and placed a hand on Springtrap's shoulder.

“It is meant to. And so far, you did great. I was prepared to get you back after ten minutes, but look at you. Two full hours being around people, and you were just a little nervous. That's great!”

“You think?”

“Springy, thirty years alone is nothing people would just shrug off.”

He looked at the ground. Then to the guard.

“Well... you guys do your best.” he said, quietly “The doc, you, Vincent, even the guards and the admin. I... I don't deserve this.”

“That's what you think, I know. But you let it happen anyway, and I would call this a step forward. Still I'd say we go back. No need to overwhelm you.”

“Yeah, sounds fair.”

So far, it had been a success. Dr. Piers' original idea had been a quite more careful approach, a single walk around the prison. Luckily, Springtrap was not really afraid of peoples' reaction. Actually he was far more concerned to do something bad. And this concern was always present, regardless of how many people were around. That's why Dr. Vallence had had the bolder idea to take him shopping. An everyday activity, but something with a set goal, too. And having something to do was quite a help to calm the nerves. Springtrap could not look around nervously, worrying about peoples' stares and talks when he was busy looking at clothing articles in the stores' displays.

While the guard drove them back to prison, they looked trough their bounty.

“A quite large selection of bunny motives.” resumed Sandra “Unusual thing in men's fashion, still, you spotted them all like a sniper.”

“Heh. You could say I grew a little bit attached to this form. I mean... I was a human for twenty two years, and by now a bunny for thirty.”

“Do you miss your body?”

He looked up from the shopping bags, a second or two at Sandra, then out of the window.

“Hm. Maybe a little. Less than I probably should.”

“Why that?”

“Honestly? I barely remember. It has been so long. Okay, I miss the taste of some food, and maybe the smell of things like... rain. Or the ocean. But beside that... not much. You can't miss things when you didn't enjoy them in the first place. And my life was not exactly enjoyable.”

“That is not really what I asked, William.”

“Oh, we're at my name now? So it's a therapy question, eh? Do I miss my actual body?”

He looked at his hands. Clenched them a couple of times.

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. It always felt like a vessel. Now that I really think about it, I always was kind of a robot. Put energy in – food and sleep – and go on. Work and work and work more. I showered out of necessity. People don't want a waiter who stinks. Same thing with shaving. Nowadays it seems to be in fashion for men to have stubble, back then it was not. Either you had a full grown captain's beard, or you were clean shaved. And my hair... I did not care for it. Let it grow, kept it in a pony tail so it won't end up on someone's pizza. I cut it when it got in the way. And clothes... Heh, I think now I own more clothes than I did while alive. Had three sets of Fazbear uniforms. They were neat. Black trousers, a purple dress shirt, a black tie, and a cap with a Fazbear badge in front. Wore them in my free time, too. Heck I don't even remember if I _had_ something else to wear.”

“You lived to work.”

“Yep. Like the robot I am now. Work, work, work, and remember to smile.”

“I'm sorry for you.”

“What? Why? There are people who are worse. I mean I was healthy and had a stable income, that was quite something during World War Three.”

“You were not healthy. And your source of income ground you to dust. Beside these two things, there was nothing for you. Maybe it seems to you that everything was alright, but... let me phrase it this way: I can hardly think of a life more empty than yours. And all these involve things like permanent sexual assault, horrible diseases, and violence.”

“I don't deserve pity. I made people suffer!”

“Including yourself.”

“Rightly so. If I had been a tiny fucking bit more successful in that part it could have saved lives!”

“And wasted yours.”

“Oh spare me that. I'm a criminal piece of trash! A failed existence. Lock me up, that's what I deserve, since you can't end me for good.”

“Do you really want this? Being alone again? In a locked room, with nobody to talk to? For years?”

“Yeah sure, that's what I... I...”

Springtrap produces a wheezing sound, which surprised him. Suddenly, he realized how cramped his whole form was, fingers digging into the bag he was holding, his spine bend down into a cowering position.

“What the fuck is this?!” he shouted, his voice trembling.

“A panic attack.” answered Sandra “I am very sorry that I triggered it on purpose, but I really think you need to go trough this.”

“Are you mad?!”

“William. This whole therapy session was more or less aimed towards us talking about your fear. But you are pressing down your whole emotional system to a degree that not even a tiny part of it could surface.”

“Cause I'm a fucking rational person, that's why!”

“Humans are not meant to be completely driven by ratio.”

“Who says that?!”

“Only every single science that has remotely to do with the human being. And if you where a rational person, you would accept this.” she sighed, and placed a hand on his shoulder “Every human has emotions. They are part of what we are. You never learned how to care for this part of yourself.”

“Izzatafactnow?! Fucking hell every time I had a feel someone died! You want this?!”

“You allowed them no room, William. Which is only natural, since you never got to accept these as part of your own. But they won't just disappear. You tried to shut them down and lock them away, so they overwhelmed you whenever your iron grip around them loosened. In fact, given your origin, I think every human would have done what you did.”

“So, all humans are murdering assholes?!”

“Under wrong circumstances, yes. See, you can't force this to go away. We need to work on this. Slowly. It will feel like you meet your long lost twin, who is nothing but the opposite of what you aim to be. But it is part of you. It is there. I just showed you by pressing the right button. Something I really hate to do, but in order for you to learn this, you need to understand. You are afraid of being alone again. Of being forgotten, left behind. Afraid of locked rooms. Naturally. You spend far too much time alone and locked. But you are not 'cured' of this fear just by being out again. We need to make it slowly go away, but in order to to this, you need to face it first. That is the only way, not only for your fears, but for every part of your feelings. They are there, William. They always were. They deserve room, since this is you. You deserve to be a person, a complete human being, with his mind and emotions in balance.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**05.12.2019 – A link to Death** (Project Specter: 2)

 

 

“Fuck, this is hard. Doesn't look a tiny bit like that girl's stuff.”

Comparing his drawing with what was shown on screen, Springtrap was anything but happy. Just recently, Admin had given him 'the talk'. At least the version that was important for modern youngsters: explaining the pro and contra of the world wide web, how it works, what to avoid. Usually, prisoners weren't allowed any form of technology, even less so free access to the internet. But technically, he was not a prisoner any more. Court wanted him to stay, more like a guest. A gray area, in fact, but everyone agreed that this should be used both for therapy, and introducing him to the modern world. The basic idea that every single computer of the whole world could possibly be connected to all the others, at the same time, sending information around the globe in mere seconds, was surely something that he needed to get used to. He just watched a video made by someone from Europe, who explained how to properly lay out a basic landscape scene. And he realized, that this was maybe a little too far from what he was able to draw. But since the internet was a bottomless barrel full of every imaginable form of information, it just took three clicks to open up another video tutorial, explaining almost the same thing, but this time for 'total beginners'.

Springtrap readjusted his headphones, and concentrated on the screen. The person had an Australian accent, and his drawing style was completely different from the one before, but somehow he was able to show an alternate, easier to understand set of sketching lines and aids.

Springtrap was so focused on the screen and his sketchbook, that he didn't hear Dr. Vallence entering the cell. Sandra, in turn, was quite happy to see him busy, so she waited at least until he was finished watching the video.

Finally he looked up, surprised to see her.

“Oh crap.”

“Nice to see you, too, William.”

“Nah I didn't mean... I mean, it's already time. Didn't notice how long it took me.”

“What are you drawing?” she asked, pulling a chair and sitting down next to him.

“Er, just trying this here guide. Felt like doing some landscape or so. But that's trickier than I thought.”

Sandra looked over what he had done so far.

“A parking plot?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“They said you need to pick some view you remember well. I slept several months on this one, so I know how it looks. Or is supposed to look anyway. Wish I had something better to draw, but I never left the city, so there's really nothing I could came up with.”

“I see.”

“Whaddya think?”

“You need to start with the background, and slowly make your way to the front. Putting different layers of objects in front of each other. When you do it the other way around, you certainly will mess up dimensions and proportion. You should use pencils of different grades. Soft ones in the back, harder ones in the front.”

“That's what they said, too. I tried this, in fact, but somehow I ended up with my car not fitting in the picture any more.”

“Where is that one?”

"Threw it away?”

“Why?”

“Wasn't any good.”

“Keep them. Compare them. You need to see your mistakes in order to see your progress. Even if you draw the same thing a hundred times, keep them all.”

“Noted.” answered Springtrap, while putting his stuff away “What are we doing today?”

Sandra looked up from the desk, then stare at his face.

“You look... different?”

“Wha- oh. Yeah. Admin ordered some bits and parts for me to tinker a little with the head. I mean... it doesn't need to be a huge round bubble any more, since there's not a person inside. Also, I really, really hated how the eyes looked. I always did, even all the way back. Huge glowing golf balls. And I took out the teeth. And... well. Actually, I think I just rebuild the entire face.”

“Looks good.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely. Far more like an actual bunny. And fluffy new fur, too.”

“Jep. I closed all the gaps between the single patches. Looks better, and, since I wear clothes now, the fabric won't get stuck in some mechanism.”

She nodded.

“Sounds good. I like it. Even if I personally think it's a little creepy that you... just rebuild your head.”

“Heh. Once you pulled your own corpse out of a robotic costume, you are hard to scare. Was a little bit tricky, sure. I had to connect a camera to the suit so I could see what I did. But seems like I still know my way around those animatronics. Even after thirty years. Anyway, what's on topic today? Please not another session of self-worth-stuff.”

Sandra shook her head, and opened one of the folders she always carried around. She produced a number of different papers, all full to the brim with writing.

“Diagnostics.”

“Aww no... crosswords again.”

“This time they are not only mine. Lena wants to know some things, too, since you are going to start with trauma therapy soon. And Dr. Piers thinks it might be worth the try crossing out some major syndromes like Asperger and Borderline. We already know that you have some nasty PTSD and a bunch of phobiae.”

“Do you guys make new mental illness up just to keep me busy? Or are there really things like... like... er-e-mo-phobia?”

Despite his talking, he went to work reading and placing checks, which allowed Sandra to look around a little. Unfinished drawings were scattered all over the place, while the finished ones were hung at the walls. Springtrap sure loved nature motives and vibrant colors. And actually, he was not that bad at all. One particular picture caught Sandra's attention. It was a tree, perhaps floating in the sky. Somehow it reminded her of depictions of the world tree. Just more rainbow. Even with the willow-like leaves sporting all available colors, Springtrap somehow did manage to keep a sort of harmony intact. It was a really nice looking artwork. And maybe even an important one. A tree. Symbol of life. And colors. While the parking plot he was trying his hands at right now was a morsel of his past, this tree came out of his imagination. A part of him that was not spoiled by life's dirty play.

Looking at all these vibrant pictures made her happy. Happy that William had found something he really enjoyed. That allowed him to release some of the things in his mind. Even if it was 'just' doodles in unnatural colors: they brought motion to long forgotten things inside of him.

For the better part of an hour, Springtrap was busy working trough the forms, now and then he asked something, but finally he was done. Sandra went through some of the forms, mostly those that were of personal interest for her, as suddenly, someone knocked at the door.

Vincent entered, but seeing Sandra in there, he almost left again.

“Oh, please do stay.” said Dr. Vallence “We are almost done anyway, and I like to talk to you as much as William does.”

The older man nodded, pulled a chair, and sat down. Then, with a growing smirk, he got something out of his backpack. It turned out to be some folders, bound in leather.

“You know...” he said happily “I was looking for these quite some time. I don't remember why they were so well hidden, but finally, here we are. Wanna take a peek?”

Springtrap looked a little bit confused, until his brother opened up one of the folders, which turned out to be a photo album. Most of the pictures were a rather poor quality thanks to Vincent's livelong clumsiness.

“Oh boy that's the old shit.” said Springtrap, flipping the pages “I remember that you had a camera back then, taking a pic of nearly everything that would stay still long enough. You kept them all?”

“Sure did. This is my part of conserving history.”

“How bold you were.”

“Well, I am rather thankful.” said Sandra, while looking over the pictures with growing interest “Say, do you have any shoots of William?”

Vincent was thinking for a moment, then, he searched an other album.

“I don't have that many. We... did not spend as much time together as I would have liked it. You know, being at work all the time.”

“Murdering kids...” mumbled Springtrap.

Both Vincent and Sandra let out a sigh.

“Oh well here. There's actually a quite good one.”

The three of them looked at the picture. It showed a young, pale man with shaggy, blonde hair worn in a ponytail, purplish eyes and huge, dark circles around them. Cheeks hollow, he sported a half-hearted smile, which made him look even more exhausted.

“You always looked like you could collapse any moment. And still you smiled.”

“Remember to smile, you are the face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.” was Springtrap's answer, his robotic voice gave this line all the mechanized feeling it needed.

An other photograph showed William with cuts and a fading black eye. The exhaustion was the same. And stayed the same whichever picture they were looking at. Always deep, dark circles, always kind of meager. There was not a single one showing him really happy. Or combed.

“Say, was brushing your hair not yet a thing back then?” asked Sandra with a smirk.

Springtrap just shrug.

“I couldn’t look into a mirror after the second murder.”

“You told ME that yours broke.”

“It did. After I threw it against the wall several times. And cutting myself with the shards.”

Not sure what to say, Vincent and Sandra looked at each other. Springtrap was the first one talking again.

“It is strange to see... me. I'm so used to the bunny look. To think that that twink there is... was... me...”

“Shall I take the photos away?” asked Vincent, but his brother shook his head.

“Nah, I'm good. For a moment I thought to miss being a human, but... Let's be honest, right now I am the same mess as I was back then. Only that not eating will no longer kill me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Springy... are you really honest with us? Or yourself?”

He looked at Sandra, just a second, before going back to the pictures.

“No.”

“So you wish you were a human again?”

“Maybe. But... but not the whole meat thing and... I want the rain.”

“The... rain?”

“Yeah. Whenever it was raining, I ran outside to get soaked. The tiny drops on your skin... The air feels so nice and fresh after a good long rain. Or.. warm sunlight, right in your face. I miss the smells. Both the good and bad ones. The suit can somehow feel being touched, but nothing else. No smelling. No gentle breeze. No warm sunlight. I... I can not believe that I'm going to say this, but... yes. I do miss being alive.”

They remained silent for some minutes, Springtrap turning pages was the only thing to be heard. Neither Sandra nor Vincent knew what to say. How do you offer comfort to a dead man?

Springtrap stopped going through pages, just stare at one particular photo. It was a formal, sepia picture of a couple in wedding attire.

“Oh, that's mom and dad.” explained Vincent “On their wedding. I found this in our old house.”

“Why did you put other pictures on it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you glue these on?”

“I don't understand what you mean? I didn't do anything to the photo. It's just our parents.”

“But...” Springtrap was still staring at the photograph, twice he closed his eyes, but still seemed confused.

Sandra joined.

“Springy, do you see something we don't?”

Springtrap didn't answer at first, but then, slowly, he nodded.

“Think so.”

“What do you see?”

“Myself. Right here.” and he tapped an empty place behind the back of his mother “And two women. Oh no wait...” he took a closer look “That's Mary!”

“And I guess the other one is Bianca.” said Vincent calmly.

“Who?”

“Our oldest sister, William.”

“Oh... why are they on here? Why do I see them?”

“Because they are dead. And you too.”

“Whoa.”

“At least that is what I think. I mean... you know the old tale. Those who witnessed death are linked to it. And able to see the deceased.”

“And you believe this shit?”

“It would explain the things Mary said to me when she left for England. She could feel that you had a connection to death. She was scared of you.”

“Wait, Mary witnessed death?”

Vincent nodded. Looked up, in Springtrap's eyes.

“Mary was the one ending father's life.”

Springtrap's jaw dropped. Not able to respond, he just stare back at his brother, who raised a hand to pat his shoulder.

“Don't think bad of her. She defended herself. Father... did many horrible things in his lifetime. Trying to rape our sister was one of the worst things he did. And the last.”

“I... I-i never... oh my god.”

“I know. I could not believe it either. Mary had a link to death, that's why she could sense yours as well. And left as soon as possible. Well, after mother died. They... shared a bond that you and me could never understand. Both being victims of the same man.”

“All the time I thought, mother...”

“Yes. Me too. And in some way, Mary did what mother always wanted. Sadly, mom was too broken to feel anything good about this. Mary, on the other hand, had a nice life, together with Bianca's family.”

“How do you know?”

“We wrote letters. Many, actually. Mary... did not want you to know anything about her, or our sister. I... am sorry, but I respected this.”

“I see...”

“Our family in Lincoln is rather large, you know. They were welcoming and warm, shared much knowledge about our common history. Our parents left England because dad's... deeds piled up. He had always been a dangerous man. Bianca was the only one old enough to understand this. And she ran away, and returned later, to build up a family of her own. A real one. I visited them some times. And attended both of their funerals.”

“Why didn't you move to Europe, too?”

Vincent smiled. It was a mixture of warmhearted affection, and sadness.

“And leave you alone? Never.”

“But... but... but why?!”

“You are my brother.”

“I died 88!”

“You were reported missing. I never lost hope finding you. And in the end, I did.”

Springtrap looked up, possibly to shout back some reply, but froze. Vincent hastily wiped away the one tear that was running down his check, and kept starring at his brother.

“I... I am s-sorry.” stuttered Springtrap.

“Sorry for what? Sorry for being raised by devil's right hand? For being abused by a lunatic skank? Sorry for grinding away your very life in a hell house? Sorry for finally being part of my life again? William. I got it. You are sorry. You led some kids to their death. Yes. I know. This does not change the fact that you are my brother. That I loved you as much as I was able to. I searched for you years after your sudden disappearance. I drank like a fish just to cover up my pain. Trice I stood on a roof top, cause I thought it was my fault not saving you and Mary from our parents' violence. There was one single thing that kept me going. The hope of finding you.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**06.12.2019 – Hardwired to sin** (Project Specter: 3)

 

 

Dr. Piers poured his first coffee of the day, and sat down at his desk. Just to be greeted by an urgent memo blinking on the screen of his PC. A 'call immediately' from the system administrator.

“Good Morning, Mister Admin. How was your night?”

“Short.” was the answer, Admin sounded exhausted “Or maybe long. Depends.”

“Oh dear. Did Mrs. Fitzpatrick refuse to take her night medication again?”

“Hah, I wish it would have been that! Urgh... sorry, sir, that sounded more frustrated than it should.”

“Then maybe enlighten me?”

“What do you get when you combine feeble electronics, water, and a ghost who suddenly got the idea he was a threat to humanity? Exactly. A canceled morning sessions with Springy. I'm happy enough that I could get him to sleep after talking for five hours.”

The doctor let out a sigh, pulled his glasses of his nose and started to rub his temples.

“Can I bother you to give me a short review?”

“Sure. He did not react well on a thing Vincent said yesterday. First it made him happy, but that turned into grief quite fast, and then, around midnight, he somehow got the idea to be a burden and therefor harmful. Which led him to the idea that he is a danger. He doesn't want to be dangerous. He somehow managed to submerge the restroom on his floor. In a vain hope that this would damage the suit. System woke me up cause it thought there was a burst pipe.”

“Is he alright?”

“No damage. Took us a while to figure out how to cross the water and turn of the spigot, and I took care of him the rest of the night. With all due respect sir, you are insane for doing this sort of thing for a living.”

“You said this the last time you had to manage a patient's nightly breakdown. Now, are there returning points?”

“Beside that he said approximately ten thousand times that he is sorry and couldn't save them and just wants to be dead? Well, I figured out you might put some hours into stress coping. Auto suggestive training, something like that. Normally, I would just have given him a sedative to calm down enough to do some talking, but that's somehow rather ineffective in his case.”

“Why didn't you call me?”

“I may not be studied as you, but since it was the thought to be a burden that got this all started, I got the idea that it would not be helpful to call someone else in. You know, selective perception and self-fulfilling prophecies.”

“Dear admin, you are by know as much a psychiatrist as I am.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I mean it.”

“In that case, I want a raise.”

“Well... since you are the official head of this facility, that is nothing I would have a say in.”

“Damnit... Okay, back to the flow. I would dare to say he needs to understand that he cannot change the past. First. Second, that he is a person, too, and if he doesn't want to harm 'anyone', this would include himself. I don't know if and how you are able to deliver this to him, but that is the thing that I personally got out of this. I read trough his diary, as we all did, I guess. It always seemed to me that he's unable to understand that he himself is a human, with human emotions, a human mind. And that it's normal for a human to make bad decisions under stress – and he was nearly permanently stressed. Don't get me wrong, I'm a cop by heart and won't excuse the fact that he committed crimes, but there's a line to draw here. Nobody is able to make right choices while in a dire situation, and he is no exception. I mean, he did not layout and plan a single of his assaults, right? These all happened suddenly, which I would call a snap reaction. He is still prone to these. Would be a great step forwards if he could see that these are just human reactions, and maybe that would help him to not lose his mind every time something happens within him.”

 

 

**11.12.2019 – Plotting Psychiatrists**

 

 

“Alright, I am going to be honest with you all: I'm not a lad anymore, and as much as I want to be here every day, at the side of my brother, I have a family and household to care for. I hate to say this, but I won't be able to keep this up much longer.”

Vincent's words had some weight. He was absolutely not happy to make this statement, that was clearly visible for the three therapists, but he had to do it.

“We understand, Mr. Afton.” answered Dr. Piers “In fact, I was going to point this issue out anyway. I am in no way happy about court's decision to keep William here.”

“And where would you want him to be, hm?” asked Sandra “Canthiel State Sanitary? The place old people are put into to be forgotten? Stanford's? In the middle of nowhere, dozens of miles away? Or do you want to ship him to Europe?”

“No need to be that hostile, Sandra.”

“You got my point. This whole thing is not ideal, true. I mean I myself drive almost an hour to be here. But everything else would move us further away from said ideal conditions.”

“I agree with Sandra.” added Lena “Please be aware that this last step backwards was – more or less – attempted suicide.”

“Something we could handle rather well, because the four of us are not that far away _and_ you have a goodhearted augmented admin here. I don't even want to think about what some other place would have done to him.”

Dr. Piers let out a sigh, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and looked out of the window.

“I know. Oh how well I know this. But what am I supposed to do? Vincent spends more time with him than I. The wellbeing of one should not require to sacrifice that of the other.”

“I suggest that he simply moves in with us.”

“Out of question, Mr. Afton. You are in now way able to handle a person as unstable as William.”

“Well, I handled myself for years. Plus, my wife already offered to go down some hours to make room for him.”

The doctor gave him a questioning look.

“And that would have what kind of effect now?”

“Olivia Afton? Doesn't that ring a bell?”

“Is it supposed to?”

“Oh.” said Sandra “Oh! You are not talking about Professor Olivia Afton aren't you?”

“Well, actually it is Professor Doctor Doctor, but yes, precisely that one.”

“Oh wow... she was my mentor when I was still studying. The world is a village.”

Doctor Piers removed his glasses, and pressed two fingers on the base of his nose.

“I am not willing to involve even more people.”

“She already is involved. Was my own therapist thirty years ago.”

“And yet she would not be able to do any more work than we here.”

“Let us make some points clear.” suggested Lena “Personally I would not dare to change anything, but Vincent stated that this situation is not bearable much longer. I would say we should set a timed goal.”

“Therapy doesn't work with deadlines.” responded Sandra with a rather displeased expression.

“I am not talking about a deadline. Not at all. But so far, we are doing not much but stabilizing him. As far as I see it, his basic condition won't get any better. He is so far ready to be worked with, events like the last one seem to be part of his personality. Therefor I would say that we rethink our approach and put some more structure into this. When we three get more involved, Vincent is in turn able to step down a little. Let's say we try this for the next three months and then we gather again to evaluate.”

“Well okay, that sounds doable.” said Sandra with a nod.

“A good point, indeed. I already got the idea that it might not get any better without us moving to the next phase... As afraid as I am to do this, it seems to be time.”

“I might have an idea for a 'goal'.” said Vincent “May be a little early to talk about this, but oh well. My fam- _our_ family has this tradition to gather at Easter. Christmas is often such a struggle, but Easter is always a Sunday, therefore better to plan. Anyway. I really, really want William to meet his relatives. We might not be able to cure him by miracle, but I think this will help him. I would like to have him for Easter.”

“That would be around four months from now...”

“Yes. Thought it would fit.”

“We could aim for that.” decided Dr. Piers, and looked over to his colleagues “Do you agree?”

“I do. Let's try this.” said Lena.

“Personally I am not a fan of any set line, since so much could happen... but oh well. We might at least try. That way we have something to prepare.”

“Good. To sum it all up: We start to move away from stabilizing and work out or actual therapy structure, while keeping an eye for Easter. That would be everything, thank you all for making it.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**17.12.2019 – The Veil** (Project Specter: 4)

 

 

Springtrap was staring at his fingertips. Embarrassed. He might not be able to blush, but his bunny ears were all tugged back, speaking volumes about his state of mind. The only other person in the room was Lena Jong, who remained silent, looking at her note book. It had been that way for ten minutes. The tiny women of Korean descent always looked stern, concentrated and professional. While she was not exactly rude or cold, her formidable appearance was enough to make people feel like they would owe something to her. Sitting here, not being able to say a single word to answer her initial question made Springtrap feel like wasting the precious time of this very important lady.  
Still, she would not push him. Not even by looking at him, or clearing her throat or anything one could do to keep a talk going. She simply remained silent, waiting for him to speak up. Which would not happen.

Again.

He felt ashamed. But there was nothing he could do. This just... was stuck. Inside of him. At first, he had thought it would be easy to talk about Lucy. About everything she did. She said. To him. It had been doable to write down a thing or two about her.  
But now it wasn't.

Such a simple question.

'Who was Lucy?'

And yet, he could not answer it. There wasn't an answer. WHO was she?  
His thoughts revolved around this question. As they had been the last time he had a sitting with Lena – just the day before. Nothing he could come up with seemed right. There was always a 'but'.  
Maybe that was what she wanted to her?  
This idea hit Springtrap like a brick in the face.

Right when his therapist closed her book and started to gather her stuff, he tried to raise his voice.

“I don't know.” he said, barely audibly.

Mrs. Jong stopped. And finally looked in his face.  
Unable to decipher her expression, Springtrap just shrank another couple of centimeters.

“Sorry.” he added.

But she shook her head.

“Don't be. This is the very basis we need.”

“Why didn't you just tell me what you wanted to hear?”

“It's not important that I get to hear what I want, Mr. Afton. Not at all. The only thing that matters is, that you were able to reach this specific point.”

“I wasted time.”

“No, you did not. You were thinking. Today. And yesterday, too. You pushed and pulled this question from one corner of your mind into the next one. You did precisely what you needed to do to achieve this insight: You don't know her. You never did. As strange as this might sound, this single line is very important.”

“Why? I don't really understand it.”

She gathered her notebook again, opened a random page, and drew something. It turned out to be a tall structure made of differently sized rectangles, this whole tower looked like it could collapse any second if it happen to be freestanding.

“The human mind always has an intern structure. There are different ways to explain it, but just think of it like a brick tower. Each phase of your life is a part of this tower. Your experiences, the things you learned, saw, felt and did make up what you are. Each passing year adds more bricks. Some special events sometimes have their very own.”

She drew another shape, not a rectangle, since one side was clearly shorter than the opposite one. On top of this, more shapes followed, this time rectangles, but they all were tilted thanks to the single deformed one.

“Life doesn't go smoothly, and some events may have a major impact on your very being. If these events are not processed accordingly, they may never truly be done with. Life goes on, and even when more things happen, this one, old thing will always have an impact. Some people experience this event again. Every time something reminds them, the memory surfaces, and they go through all this again and again like it was actually happening. Even if this is not the case for you, it changes how you see, feel and think. This is a trauma. Although there are different views and definitions what to call a trauma and what not, let's just think about it that way: A mental wound, never treated properly, and it therefor still influencing you today.”

She drew a stick figure on top of the tower. It had the same tilt like all the rectangles.

“Usually, humans tend to watch their memories, and in fact, their entire self, from the very top. From their current situation, with their current knowledge and mind. Which makes it impossible to see that, actually, something is not right. For you, it does look right. But it is not. The tricky thing is, to find the actual malformed part. Even when you know which one it is, you can not simply go all the way down there, plug this specific brick out of the tower, and reshape it. That would simply topple the whole thing over. No, you need to reach it from the very top, working through layer after layer. And as you look at each brick, we need to watch closely, if this one is well shaped, or if it has a flaw, too. Reshaping that one foul brick is quite some work, yes, but first, we need to reach it. This is your life, Mr. Afton. These are your memories, the understanding of the world that you gained over the years. Rather important bricks are missing in your tower. And many are malformed. Lucy added some of these bricks. Maybe they are the worst, but certainly not the only ones that need to be reformed. But first, you need to understand one very important thing. And it won't help if I told you, no, you need to see this yourself.”

And she drew a circle around the stick figure.

“You are here. On top. And for you, things don't look out of shape. You don't feel the tilt, since you are used to it. You might be aware that there is some part of the tower that is off the charts, but from your point of view, these are not clearly visible. This is where we start, Mr. Afton. You made this step.”

Springtrap kept looking at the picture. Trying to understand what she wanted to tell him. The penny took some time to drop.

“You mean... I have to... rebuild? My whole... my WHOLE life?”

“Yes.”

“Like, every single piece of trash?”

“Indeed. We need to go through every major event.”

“Are you kidding?”

“I wish there was an easier way, Mr. Afton. I truly do. But there is not. Your traumatic experience changed the way you perceive yourself and the world around you. What you think and feel about yourself and others. One example: Nobody has to work or pay for happiness. This is a basic human right. You were literally trained to think about this as a good. Something to gain. Something to pay for. It is not. And this is a thing you need to learn. It will take time, Mr. Afton. Much time. It took some time for you to learn this in the first place, and now, you have to un-learn it again, to make room for a proper understanding.”

“Okay. Okay, I got it. I will spend my whole life to fix this shit, but I understand. One thing I don't get: Why is it important that I 'don't know her'?”

Mrs. Jong spend a moment to think about her respond. Finally, she drew in her book again. The one malformed brick now was marked as 'Lucy'.

“To realize that you are not actually able to see the malformed brick that is Lucy Horace. A complete stranger had that much influence on your life. She wasn't your mother, not related to you. You didn't ask for her help or advice. She was a stranger. Whatever she said or did to you is not relevant. You need to forget it. To un-learn it.”

“What the- she was the first person who ever was nice to me!” Springtrap shouted back, but Mrs. Jong remained calm.

“Who was she?”

“Nice! She was NICE to me!”

“That is maybe _what_ she was, but WHO was she?”

“My first friend!”

“No. Friends do not rape each other, or use each other as a tool. Who was she?”

Springtrap was about to go into range. He would jump up, scream and shout and curse.  
He did not.  
Before his rampage could even begin it died down again.  
He tugged his ears, covered his eyes with them.

“I don't know.” he said, as quietly as before.

“She is a malformed brick in your life, Mr. Afton. You came to think of her as something important because she still throws her shadow on you. She made you believe that things are supposed to be like they were for you. Everything that came after her is sloped. Spoiled. Tainted. Whatever you would like to call it. And since she is not the only weird stone, things are even more tilted. Normally, you would not be able to see this, because it is the very ground you stand on right now. But you did get the idea. It is one thing to claim to be 'broken' or 'insane' or 'weird'. But it takes quite more to actually be able to understand that some parts of your very own are out of shape, and that these affect how you think and feel. It will take time for you to accept it. But it found a way into your mind. That is, what matters. That is the reason why this single line is so important.”

“Can we please stop now?” he asked, without letting his ears go “I.... I'm kinda burnt out right now.”

“Of course. But please make sure to ask for help if you feel like you need it. That's why we are here.”

“You're a hard one. Teacher, I mean.”

“I need to be. There will be times when you beg me to leave you alone, and I will go on. You will curse me, you will hate me, since I will make things surface that you just want to forget. I will question things you think to be fundamental. I will rip your world view and self esteem apart. I need to be strict and hard, since we both need to get through this phase of destruction, so that we are able to put together the pieces in a right an proper way. A mentor of mine once said, a trauma is like a rotten tooth. You need to grab it, and pull. It will hurt, there will be blood, but you need to pull it out in order for the wound to heal. There are different ways to reach it, but they all will hurt at some point.”

“Wow... thanks for warning me, I guess.”

They left the counseling room. A guard joined, and the three of them made their way downstairs towards the cell block. Of course all the counseling sessions were supervised. They followed the protocol, even if everyone was convinced that Springtrap was harmless. Everyone except for himself. So far, he was the only 'prisoner' whose cell wasn't locked at all. As happy as he was not to be in a locked room, he never would leave it on his own.

Just as they reached the first floor, a group of guards entered the hallway from the courtyard. Admin was amongst them, which meant they were newcomers, touring through the facility.

“Ah yes, perfect timing.” said Admin with a broad grin “Gentlemen, may I introduce you to our most interesting inmate: Springtrap, a ghost possessing an animatronic bunny suit.”

People stare. Some sported a half-hearted smile, expecting it all to turn into a joke, but most of them just were confused.

“Sorry, I'm not really in the mood to spook someone.” responded Springtrap.

“Not even a tiny little bit?” teased Admin.

But before Springtrap could say something, his jaw dropped. For a second or two, he just stare at the stale air next to one of the new guards, then, he produced a high-pitched squeak, and tried to hide behind Mrs. Jong's back. A reaction that surprised even Admin.

“Uhm, Springy? Everything fine?”

“There's a GHOST!” was the answer.

“You are a ghost, too.”

“No, yeah, I am but I am me and not another ghost why is there a GHOST?”

The guards shared some looks. This whole situation definitely demanded for explanation. And maybe a raise.  
Springtrap peeked out of his inadequate hiding spot behind that tiny woman.

“Yes, I can see you.” he said, his voice cracking “And hear you, too.”

Then he waited, perhaps for a respond.

“No, am not. Well, not entirely. You know, not the real way. Yeah. No. Who are you?”

Finally, he looked at the guard right next to the spot he was so far staring at. His face changed from fear to compassion.

“Oh. I see. Hello Greg. Nice to meet you. Marianne says Hi.”

The guard – a middle aged, stocky man – was confused at first to hear his name from a stranger, but as soon as he heard the other name his eyes widened.

“What kind of comedy show is this?!” he snapped back “Who is this clown?!”

“As I said: A ghost. And ghosts can talk to other ghosts.” answered Admin nonchalantly.

“I demand a proper-”

“She says her favorite bedtime story was 'Benny the Bumblebee'.”

The guard almost choked on his own words. His stern face suddenly turned into a grimace torn by disbelief and sadness. He stepped aside, and looked at the empty spot next to him.

“M-marianne?!”

“Yes she's there.” answered Springtrap, finally confident enough to move out of hiding.

“Oh my god...”

“She says she has been at your side since her death. What happened?” again he waited for respond, his expression changed to shock “Oh fucking shit...”

“She was kidnapped.” said the guard named Greg “My daughter. My Marianne. Taken away from me. Murdered for sure. Not a single trace. No body to bury. Nothing.”

“She was raped, too. He didn't intend to kill her, but she tried to resist, so... I... I am so sorry.”

Greg closed his eyes, both of his hands clenched to fists.

“If this is a joke, I swear I will sue the hell out of you all.”

“Dude, even after thirty years of undeath I still hope to wake up in my bed, but believe me, shitty reality's not doing me this favor.” answered Springtrap.

“Seven years... Why... why.... oh why are you still here, Marianne? An angel like you belongs to Heaven. Not this... this... wretched place.”

“She says that your grief is keeping her here.”

Again, Greg's eyes widened.

“What?!”

“Hey, I just say what she says.” suddenly, Springtrap looked at a spot right in front of him “Urm, hi. Please don't touch me. No. I don-ARGH! HEY! I said don't! That HURTS! What do you mean 'want to make sure'? I see you, isn't that... what? Memory? What... what memory... oooooooh. Oh shit. Yeah. Yeah I know. How... how.... ah. Why didn't you just tell me? Yeah cool easier this way. Hey, wipe that smirk outta your spectral face, that HURT. Greg, your daughter is nasty!”

“What did she do?”

“Touched me. To... what? She says she tried this with everyone around you but nobody would react. That's how... oh? Is that so? Okay... good to know. Seems like that's how ghosts can share memory. She... 'told' me where to find her remains. To bury them. She wants to move on but to do this _you_ need to put her to rest. Both physically and in your mind.”

“That will only happen when the bastard who murdered her is put to court.”

“Yeah, for that... she told me how he looked. I gonna draw you a couple of pictures.” he took a look at Admin “No, better idea: I print them.”

A couple of minutes later, at his office, Admin started a small laptop.

Springtrap used this opportunity to take a look around. Somehow he expected the brain of this whole facility to be a messy place full of random cables, remains of long dead computers, and stale pizza. It was not exactly organized, yes, but far from being chaotic. The walls were plastered with different screens, mostly security cameras, but also showing some other information and opened text files. Dominating the room, a huge table was sitting right in the center, perhaps for meetings or something like that. It was there people sat down right now.  
Admin placed the laptop in front of Springtrap, and handed him a USB cable. Both Lena Jong and Greg were watching curiously.

The lights of Springtrap's eyes went off, and the screen of the laptop suddenly gained a purplish hue. A bunny face appeared on desktop.

“So, that's how he haunts other devices... fascinating.” said Mrs. Jong.

“Is... this _normal_ around this place?”

“Absolutely not. But usually, only Dr. Piers and Dr. Vallence get to see something interesting. But not this time, hah!”

“We, urm... practiced a little.” responded Admin “You know. For science. Okay, and to make sure Springy won't freak out if it happened again by accident.”

“How much control does he have?”

“Full. He _is_ the laptop now. Well, he can't turn on things that need a manual switch, like... oh, yeah the speakers.”

“You always forget these.” said the Laptop after Admin turned on the sound.

The voice coming out was definitely something different from what the suit was able to produce. It did sound like it belonged to a human. And was probably just that: William Afton's natural voice.

“Sorry Springy.”

“Whatever. I'll try to directly print the... pictures Marianne gave to me. Don't know if this works. If not, I might need to draw them in a program or so...”

Somewhere in the room, a laser printer went to work, and Admin gathered the first batch of pictures to look at. They showed the face and upper body of a young man, his features were clearly visible, but the background was not.

“And? How is it?”

“They're purple.”

“Cool. And quality?”

“A little... muddy. Like, not a photograph. Although, it's amazing that you literally printed out something directly from your mind. “

“Yeah blah, you think you can work with these? Maybe if I concentrate at little more on a single picture...”

Again, the printer produced a sheet of paper. Admin picked it up, and placed it next to the first ones. The purple lines were sharper, the face more defined.

“And?”

“Wow. Now, this looks like a photograph.”

“Good enough?”

“Definitely.”

“Great. I try to make some different angles and maybe some expressions...”

Marianne's father looked over the pictures. His face was pale, but sported a resolute expression.

“So... this is the murderer of my daughter.” he said, barely able to contain his anger “Finally, a chance for justice. May God have mercy with your soul, you bastard.”

“Personally I won't put a single coin on anything that might come from heaven.” said Springtrap “But hey, that's just me, a filthy and undead criminal talking here. I gonna write a little bit of stuff down. Like, how she remembers it happening. More important: where and when.”

A text document opened up on screen, and line after line appeared. Within seconds, a whole page was done.

“She told you all that?” asked Greg.

“Nah. She... made... it appear in my mind.”

“How?”

“Don't ask, I have no clue. Last time some ghost touched me, it was torture. Didn't know this has an actual effect. Hey, don't give me that look, it's not like there is a manual for afterlife or something like that for me to read.”

It took Springtrap a couple of minutes to produce a (purple) body of text. It was rather chaotic, hard to read, since it more or less was a direct transcript of his thoughts, which were second hand in turn. But the main points were clearly stated. Where the kidnapper brought her. Where to find the corpse. Together with the facial composites printed out, this was enough for the police to work with.

“We could use someone like you for investigation.” said Greg, then he seemed to remember “Oh wait, I'm not on public duty anymore.”

“Happy to help.” answered Springtrap, stretching his robotic limbs.

“No, seriously. You delivered all critical points to solve this case.”

“Yeah, I _delivered_ them. Nothing else. A ghost told me. Without a ghost, I'm useless, and not every crime leaves a ghost behind. And not every ghost is sane enough to be talked with.”

The former officer sighed, and finally put all the documents into a folder Admin had prepared.

“This is beyond my ability to understand, I admit. Still I think you all are fooling me.”

“Marianne says you promised her to quit smoking, and still you do.”

“What? No!”

“Ooooh, you even do it in secrecy so that mom- er, I mean your wife won't notice. Hint: she does.”

“My gosh...” he blushed a little.

“Busted.”

“Absolutely.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**02.01.2020 – Project Specter** (Project Specter: 5)

 

 

“I hope you understand why we would really like to have a chat with him.”

“Without any doubt, yes.” Dr. Piers put down the papers, and looked at the two guests, in a rather concerned fashion “I can, with a clear conscience, vouch for him not to be a part of this whole mess. We have a rather complete summary of his life, for therapeutic purpose.”

“We do not think that he played any active role is this. But, a part he became, clearly. If only by accident.”

“Well, be my guests. We can go straight over to him.”

And the three left Dr. Piers' office, went downstairs into the prison tract. The hallways were clean and bright as always, dotted with armchairs and potted plants, pictures hang on the wall. Altogether, one wouldn't think to be inside of a high security containment facility.

Springtrap sat in his room, mindlessly doodling something and thinking. It had been three months since he moved in here, and, even with being a prison, it felt far more home than everything he ever knew. The cell was neither large nor pretty, but, by now, there was a plush carpet, some plants, and colorful pictures on the walls. And a rather large assortment of coloring books, and many, many different pencils. After he had been tinkering around with the robotic fingers of his hands, they were somewhat capable of drawing finer lines. He still had much too learn, since he had never drawn anything for fun is his former life.

Suddenly, someone came trough the door.

“Good day Mr. Afton, may we come in?”

Springtrap looked up, then at the clock on the wall.

“Aren't you a little early, doc?”

But Dr. Piers had company. Two unknown persons, dressed in black, without any form of symbol or sign that would mark them as workers of the prison, or the police. The women carried an assemble of hardcover folders, and both sported a rather calm, professional expression, that made Springtrap feel a little uncomfortable.

The doctor motioned towards the visitors, as if to hand the lead of the conversation to them.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Afton.” said the man “We work for the Global Agency for Security and Exposure. And are rather interested to have a talk with you.”

“Oh boy. Men in black, huh? Well, and women.”

“You could say this, yes.” answered the lady, with a light smirk “Though, our organization is a part of the Global Council for Cooperation and Peace.”

“The what.”

“Why... you don't know? It is the largest international organization, just two steps away from a world parliament.”

“Never heard. Since when does it exist?”

“Founded by the European Federation, Hawaii, Great Polynesia, Australia, the Free Peoples of Africa, the First American Nations and, well, the USA. New years eve, 1990.”

“So, two years after my dead. Apologies, but... you could say that I had a wall between myself and the world for some years. I mean just yesterday I learned about that big bomb in 2007, that caused three months of darkness. Or that the Europeans settled the moon. Or the pan-Arabian war? Everything is new to me.”

Both agents looked at each other, a little concerned. Whatever they communicated non verbally, they gained back their countenance rather quickly.

“This won't take much time, don't be worried.” said the man “All we want you to do is to answer some questions, and have a look at these.” and they put down some folders on the desk.

Springtrap easily recognized them, picked one up and looked at it.

“Oh wow. These are blueprints. For the animatronics that were used at Freddy's. Made by Fazaka, a daughter of Fazbear Entertainment. They made different kind of electromechanical stuff, mostly robotics.”

“We know. Please have a look inside.” said the women.

Springtrap opened the folder, and started rummaging trough its contents. First rather lighthearted, but as soon as he got to understand what he was looking at, the expression of his mechanical face rapidly changed towards a freaked out look.

“What the...” was all he could say. Blueprint after blueprint went through his hands, but they all looked similar.

“Do you recognize these builds?”

“Hell no! These are... these are murderbots!”

“Indeed.” responded the agent, without looking bothered.

“Oh fucking hell this is intense... are these real? Where did you get them?”

“After you were found, the police went on to search, and break into the safe rooms of all known locations of the former enterprise. They found a huge stash of sensible information, beside others the exact location of a more or less secret production plant of Fazaka, hidden in Alaska. There, we were able to gather these blueprints. And other samples.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“My ass be damned. I... okay, I always wondered why you'd put teeth on robots supposed to cheer kiddos. But this here is sick shit. Lookit, this thingy here has a fucking riffle build in! What the fuck?!”

“I take it that, you have not been involved with any of this research and engineering?”  
“Heck no! I was just the guy fixing the bots, putting oil on the joints and such. Okay, I did learn a thing or two in my years, but... but.... why would... would someone create insane crap like this?! These are no toys. They're...”

“Soldiers.” said the women “At least, that is what we think. But, there is more. Please, have a look.” and she handed him an other folder.

This one was made of metal, sported a complex lock that had been delicately cut open. The pages inside were tightly packed with information, diagrams and blueprints. Springtrap turned some pages, than he stopped. And stare.

“Oh my... oh my god. That... that can't be...”

The two agents looked at each other, nodded slightly. Of course they were trained to catch someone lying. To their delight, Springtrap was as easy to read as a human. And far too overwhelmed to play any tricks. Behind them, Dr. Piers got a little nervous.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Afton?”

“No. It's not. This... just look at it.”

The doctor took the paper, studied it for not more than two seconds.

“Dear god.”  
“That's a springlock suit. A bonnie. Just like mine here. But... this one is 'improved'. So... mine is a prototype.”

“Project Specter? What is that supposed to mean?” and Dr. Piers threw a look at the two agents. They remained silent.

“Boy this is sick... what the heck... plasma coil... high energy whatthehell... trans-fu-gi-ra-tory matrix what the fucking hell is this supposed to be?! I don't understand a single... oh fuck my soul, hey, do I have these things in me, too?”

“Not everything, probably, but the main parts... yes, you do.”

The robot bunny looked up and stare at the agent.

“What IS this?! Some sort of... iron maiden? But why all this electronic shit?”

Again, both agents looked at each other. Finally, the women nodded, and went towards the desk.

“Do you want the long, or the short version?”

“The one I am able to understand?”  
“Okay. Short one. What we were able to get out of this facility spoke for a large scaled project with the goal to create an autonomous army made of robots.”

“For what?”

“Usually, an army is meant to fight. We were not yet able to find any motives or intern communication that would allow us to guess, but we think their ultimate goals were terroristic in nature. Take another look on the blueprints. Do you think these would be able to work?”

Springtrap did as he was told, sporting a confused, worried expression. He read a little here, a little there, but, finally, he shook his head.

“I am no expert. And what little knowledge I have is thirty years old. But I would say... nope. Even with modern energy sources... I mean, hey, the Germans had several fusion plants running at my time, but batteries where still fucky. As they are today. These bots here would run out of power like, an hour after being turned on.”

“Indeed. Now, please, go back to the specter research.”

“What do you want me to realize? The springlock suits were a dead trap, yes, but what has this to do with the other.... oh.”

Springtrap looked down at himself, wiggled his fingers. The agent seemed pleased.

“I think you got it.”

“You mean... ohmyshit... you mean this was... purposed?”

“Yes. Project Specter tried to turn a human being into some sort of, as we like to call it, living lightning. A perpetual source of power, sapient, able to follow orders, but lacking any form of personality, emotion, or higher reasoning. Your suit, being a prototype, was able to turn you into a specter, but failed to strip you of your self. Fortunately.”

“A specter is designed to power any given device, and, opposed to artificial intelligence grown in a Celebramite brain, these are supposedly able to be transplanted between different devices at will. So... we would like to know if that did happen to you at some point.”

Springtrap shuddered.

“Yeah. How it happened first time is still a mystery, I just... popped into that laptop over there. Luckily, our Admin guy here was able to figure out what happened, and brought me back to the suit. After that, we... experimented a little. He put an USB port on the suit so I could move around a little. Was in the PC two more times, and in his mobile.”

“How did this feel?” asked the female agent, with a sense of concern.

“Honestly? First time was a nightmare. Like you fell down a hole or something. I... I was so scared. Like... all alone. Ugh... well... but after that... I mean, after that I knew what was going on. And, actually, being in Admin's cellphone was not that bad. It has a cam for me to see, a micro to hear and I can talk while in there. Just not move. But over all, my suit is better. This... this here is me.”

“Would you be willing to demonstrate this for us?”

“Yeah sure. Just... erm... just promise not to trap me?”

She smiled.

“Of course not. We don't want to harm you in any possible way.”

“Yeah okay, I have a cable somewhere here... Ah there. Just where do you want me to go?”

“We have a cell phone prepared. There are no sensible data, also, it has no power.”

“Just plug it in. I'll do the rest.”

They did. Once the connection from the suit to the cellphone was realized, Springtrap brought himself in a stable position. And the lights of his eyes went dark.

Just a mere second later, the phone flickered to life. A faint purple glow on screen, which turned into... a pixelated bunny head.

“So, that's it.” peeped the phone “I'm in here.”

“Fascinating.” said both agents in union, then, after a second or two, the man added “Do have access on any stored data?”

“Dude, I AM your phone right now. It's just like shoving your hands into your pockets.”

“There is a highly secured file on the phone. And by highly secured I mean the most advanced security and encrypting technology worldwide. Can you open it?”

“Yeah, sure. Piece of cake. Well. I can't show it on screen. Have not yet figured out how to make my bunny face go away. Want me to describe what it is?”

“Please do.”

“Hm... It's a pic of a penguin. Oh, wait, it's animated. Waddle waddle waddle... aww no, it fell into the water. Oh hey, I can see where you got this.”

Again, both agents glanced at each other, some unspoken words were exchanged.

“That.. should not be possible.” said the man “We erased all tracks.”

“Still in here. A number. I give it a call.”

And out of the female agents pocket, a ringtone came.

For a moment or two, the agents remained silent. It was clear to see that Springtrap's ability exceeded their expectations.

“Sooo... if you don't want me to do anything else, can I go back now? My suit is comfier.”

“Oh yes, please go back. Excuse me, we were... not expecting this, and are in fact a little shocked.”

“My pleasure.” said Springtrap, now back in his bunny robot. He stretched a little, happy to be able to move again.

“Without any trouble, you moved over three very different fire walls, powered a phone that was equipped with a faux battery, and a broken operating system, and still you were able to decipher a file that is not readable even for our technology.”

“Yeah. And?”

The woman stare at Springtrap, for the first time clearly expressing surprise, and maybe a little bit fear.

“Mr. Afton, you are an enormous security risk.”

“That's why I am here.” was the answer, Springtrap glanced over to Dr. Piers “Securely contained, never to harm anyone again.”

The doctor gave a small, reassuring nod. Even if, actually, Dr. Piers was trying his best to move his patient away from this view. Indeed, Springtrap, or William Afton, did his part in 16 cases of child murder, but still, he, too, had been a victim of the actual killer.

Lucy.

“How is this even possible?”

“Well. I'm dumb, yes, but after what you guys told me: Seems I am electricity. Not information.” said Springtrap, looking over to his laptop “That may be the reason I can not travel through the phone cables to the internet. These are light signals, no power. And if I am thinking lightning, I go where I want to go and power those circuits the way I seem fit.”

“Since electrical energy does not care for programmed obstacles.” concluded the female agent.

“We saw what we needed to see.” said her colleague “Thank you very much, Mr. Afton. It might happen that we will contact you again sometime.”

“Hey. It's a prison after all. And thankfully, court needs me as evidence for the new Fazbear law suit. So, not going anywhere as long as I can help it.”

Both agents nodded. Looked at each other, and then, the women produced yet another folder. This time a modern one, still thick though.

“We would like to give you this.” she said, placing the folder on the desk “This is a redacted version of the whole specter research. We erased all information about how it or the technology around it was created, but it does contain a vast amount of things you might want to know. You could call this a manual for yourself.”

“You... you want a manual for a super weapon in the hands of a criminal?”

“Believe us. We are well informed about you and your case, and would not allow you access to these information while doubting your motives. And, to be perfectly honest, you are the only specter successfully created, your suit – while being a one-use-item – is the first and last one of its kind. We want to be on your good side, should something happen.”

Springtrap looked up again, confused.

“What should happen?”

The lady smiled, and slightly shook her head.

“Right now, nothing. But it is our job to be prepared.”

“We also let you keep the phone.” the man added “There are a couple of contacts in there you might want to turn to. Since you are the only one able to operate this one, it will be perfectly save.”

“Thank you again, Mr. Afton. And you too, Dr. Piers.”

“And have a nice day.”

And they both left the cell.

“Well, that was something.”

“I am sorry for this spontaneous visit, William. But after all, Global Security Service is something I personally won't put on hold.”

“Nah, I'm fine.” answered Springtrap with a smile “I mean, some people in black popping up is not the strangest thing that happened to me.”

“Fair point.”

“Do you want to read this stuff?” he asked, while turning some pages of the manual.

“It is yours. They left it for you to read.”

“Cool. I guess. You think I should? I mean... what if...”

“I trust you. Secret Service trusts you. Maybe you could, too.”

Springtrap was not convinced, kept staring at the folder, unsure what to do. Dr. Piers pulled a chair, and sat down next to him.

“Let us talk about this. They handed me a copy of this as well.” Springtrap looked up at him “Yes. In fact, everyone who is aware of you got one. And since I am your main therapist, they informed me about several things. Whatever special... power or skill you may have, is linked to your mind. Your emotions. As far as I understood, that was the reason for the original specter to be free of any emotion. You are not. And that is another reason for you to go on with your therapy.”

“You... you think I am dangerous?” asked Springtrap, barley whispering.

“Every person can be dangerous. A grown man in full rage is able to do much harm. Nobody ever cared for your emotional wellbeing. Beside Vincent, of course. I am not able to undo the past. Nobody of us is. But we can do better now. And have yet another good reason to do this. I do not think you to be dangerous. Let us be honest, in my twenty years working with criminals, you are the very bottom when it comes to danger. But again, to be honest, you are still not stable. You made quite some progress, of course, but now think about a lightning having a self-destructive breakdown.”  
“That would be bad.”

“Indeed. I really think you should read this. We can, of course, talk about this. But I admit that technology is not my strong suit. Yet I do understand that we need to include this in our effort to help you.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**09.01.2020 – How to train your Bunny** (Project Specter: 6)

 

 

“So, three times a week is the new regular now?”  
“Indeed, it is.” answered Lena Jong, while gathering her notes.

“Oh lucky me.”  
“Personally I would like to see you every day, but I do not have that much time spare. The clinic I work at is understaffed.”  
“Why do you do this at all? I mean there are people who are far more worth your time.”  
She adjusted her glasses, as she did every time she would like to say something sharp, but knew better.

“If so, I have yet to met them.”

“You are hopeless. All of you.”  
“No, we are not. You are.”

“Ouch. Can I trade you in for a Sandra, please? Oh wait... on second thought, she got somewhat harder too, recently. You all. Did I mess up something to make you angry?”

“Why would you get this idea?”  
“Just a gut feeling. I mean... cable. Thing. You know.”  
“It is your usual approach to think that someone is angry or mad. To answer your question: No, we are in no way angry. But we left the stabilizing phase and started the real work. This will be hard for you, but I told you already. I promise you there will be light moments too. And better times.”

Springtrap let out a sigh. Even without the ability to breath, he imitated all the movements a human would perform to produce this sound. Including opening his mouth. Thanks to tiny details like this, most people didn't need much time to see him as a human, rather than a robot.

“Well. Let us begin, then. Wednesday we started to go a little bit through your initial meeting with Lucy. I thought about this, and I would like to ask you some questions.”  
“Go ahead. Do your worst.”  
“I will. The one thing that was hard to understand is, that you never before had any form of emotional reaction. Since this is a natural part of the human mind, this is supposed to surface now and then, even when your surrounding does not encourage this.”  
“What do you want me to say? I was fourteen. Maybe I had some emotions before. I don't remember.”  
“Nothing?”  
“Nope. Well. I remember that I had been afraid. Like, that was my default mode when I was a kid. But I grew out of this sometime. After this there was nothing.”

“That is hard for me to believe.”  
“Hey, YOU are the educated psychiatrist here, I am just able to say what I remember, and how I remember it.”  
Again, she pushed her glasses back to the root of her nose, and wrote down something in her book.

“Indeed. Please go on.”

“With what? I told you that she was a revelation of sorts. Ugh... okay, maybe I had these things in me, yes. But they where not... not... active. Plugged out somewhere in my childhood. I don't remember that anyone ever was nice to me. Please believe me, I just don't remember. I was... I was just there. Woke up in the morning, eat, did what I was told, tried to make it through the day without getting beaten, eat again, and sleep. That's what I remember. For years. Okay, later on there was school. But honestly, that was just... oh wait. Wait. There is something coming back... I remember that one teacher tried to... well, today I would say she cared for me. I did not understand this back then, maybe that's why I forgot. It felt strange. She asked me stuff like how I was feeling and such. Oh boy, almost the same crap you guys ask me.”  
“And did that help you?”  
“No. Not that I would knew. I barely remember it. Shards and pieces. I mean, hey, I am fifty years old, it has been some time... I... I think she tried to help me. But that is what I say now, after five months of therapy. Back then, it did not do anything.”  
“Do you remember more persons like this one?”  
“No. Well, not now. It just hit me that she existed, so maybe there had been more, but I was not able to... understand what they tried to do. Perhaps some will come back, but right now... You think this is important, right?”

She nodded, while writing down quite some text.

“Absolutely. I would like you to see that not everything was as blank and hopeless.”  
“You want me to doubt my own memories?”  
She looked up. For an uncomfortable long time, Lena stare straight into his eyes.

“Exactly.” she said, finally.

“What?”

“Your memory is fooling you, Mr. Afton. Please think of the brick tower. You cannot see the actual tilt. This is very fitting for someone with your issues, but still we need to work on this. It is a common function of our mind to filtrate things that do not match our initial prejudge. It is easier for us to forget these things, and sometimes we don't even perceive them in the first place. Usually, this is an aid to ease the burden of or working memory. To fasten up decision making. Unfortunately, this leads to a filtrated view on the world. This is, what I want you to understand today.”

Springtrap folded his arms, and looked out of the window. By now, his therapists knew that this was not a sign for him to close up, but more that he needed time to process something. It still happened that he would drop out of a conversation to think. Not as often as it did happen at the begin of his therapy, but it still was a hint how used he was to be alone with his thoughts. At least, by now, he was aware of this issue. When he came back after two minutes, he blinked in surprise.

“Sorry.” he said “I just.. Well. It's hard to get in. My memory is me. And now I am supposed to question it, because it's shitty.”

“Precisely.”

Again he sighed.

“Can't promise you that I get this in today. I'll try though.”  
Mrs. Jong sported one of her very rare smiles.

“That is all I want. I highly doubt that there was this sort of void in your life.”  
“You think I just... were not able to see this?”  
“Indeed. Think of this one teacher. You said that, back then, you were not able to understand what she was trying, but today you are. I am sure there had been more things like these.”  
“And I missed them.”  
“Yes.”

“And this insight should make me feel better?”  
“Not on its own, no. But it will help to take away some of Lucy's power. She was not the first one to be nice to you. And not the only one. She maybe was the one you noticed for the first time, because... well, let's be honest. She forced herself on you. I would even dare to say that she was not exactly 'nice'. Not in the common sense, at least. She was able to reach to you, because she was using a form of communication you could perceive.”  
“Force.”

“Right that. You were raised by force. This is the sort of filter your mind applied on your perception. You permanently scanned your surroundings for any sign of danger. And all those things that were not a possible threat were not of interest, and therefor you simply skipped them.”

“Wow.”

“This is probably the main reason Lucy had power over you. She found that way into your mind. And not because you were – or are – a bad, destructive person. But because you were trained to solely react on violent behavior. You maybe know this rumor that people, especially women, tend to stick with people that remind them of their parents? This has precisely the same reason. Your childhood left some of the major channels in your mind blocked. You just said it yourself: You tried to make it through the day without being hurt. Leaving the fact that this alone is horrible aside, this made it hard if not impossible for you to be open for other forms of interhuman interaction. I remember a passage of your diary, were you said that you learned what happiness feels like. Everything that can be learned can also be unlearned. When we don't even know a thing, we might not even be able to crave it. To miss it. Of course we turn towards those forms of behavior we are familiar with, even when they harm us. As far as I understood, your father treated you like a thing that destroyed money by just being there. A 'runt', to cite you. You learned to follow his orders to receive less punishment. Psychologically put, this is a form of reward. A so called negative reinforcement. A stimulus in form of punishment is taken away in order to make you behave that way more often. Lucy installed herself as a new authority in your life. She forced herself into it. She raped you. It may seem to you that she did something good, because, given the fact that you were so far only rewarded by less punishment, actually gaining something enjoyable was quite new. But this does not mean that she was 'nice'. Your father was not nice by hitting you less, was he? He still hit you. Lucy followed this very same pattern of conditioning. You were not used to altruistic behavior. People being nice to you without a set goal was nothing you could perceive. But Lucy did just what your father always did. Training you to behave in a way she saw to be fitting. In her specific case, she used you to fulfill her own needs, whatever these actually were is not relevant. She was training you. As your father did before. Thinking about the fact that you meet her just some months after your father passed away would highly suggest that she just filled the gap. She was in no way nice to you, Mr. Afton. She just did what your father always did. The only difference was, that she used a positive form of reinforcement. Giving you treats in form of emotional support. These things alone might be considered nice. But put in this context, they are not. Are you still listening?”  
Springtrap stare at her, his whole expression was frozen halfway towards shock. His mouth was opened, as were his eyes. He had not moved for some minutes, and seemed to still be spaced out. Lena decided to allow him some time to process this. She was used to people's breakdowns. After all, trauma therapy was hard work, often touching the very base of the human mind and its functions. Most people reacted on this either by freaking out, or breaking down. Springtrap was no exception, only that his reactions were evenly distributed on all three forms of coping: Anger, Escape, and playing dead.

It took him a full ten minutes to finally move again.

“Ohmygod.” was all he could produce.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**10.01.2020 – Dandy Bun** (Project Specter: 7)

 

 

“Feeling better now?”

“Yes.” answered Springtrap “Sorry. I... I am sorry that this happens so often.”

“That's just how it is.” said Vincent, without letting his brother go “Getting better is not a straight line upwards.”

“Falling down is always so easy... getting up not. Without you... you all... I would...”  
“And this is normal, too. Only a very tiny number of people are able to get over things like these all by themselves.”

“Great. And I am not one of them.”  
“As you are not someone being fluent in six languages. That is just how things are. The energy you use up brooding about this could be invested in moving on.”  
“You do sound like a therapist, yaknow?”  
The older man smiled happily.

“I am married to one. And went through some myself. It is no use to glue yourself to the bad things. They won't do anything for you.”

“Boy where do you get all this positivity.”  
Again, Vincent smiled, nudging his nose into his brother's fur.

“Among others, from you.”

Springtrap did not answer, so they stayed a while like this. This was the easiest way to calm him down. As strange as it would seem, hugging a robot, it did comfort him like nothing else. People around were already used to this. Even some guards did hug him when they happen to run into him in the hallways. Which was still confusing Springtrap. But he was enjoying it far too much to question it.

Finally, Vincent got up again.

“I still have some things to do in the city. Want to come with me?”

Springtrap looked up as if he had been asked an impossible question.

“It's two pm, there's far to much folk out there. I mean...”  
“Oh come one. We live in the US. Strange is practically part of the tradition.”

“Ugh... I-”  
Someone knocked at the door. And in came some middle aged women. She wore a guard's uniform, and carried a large bag.

“G'day Mr. Afton... Both of you.”

“Who are you?” asked Springtrap.

“Just the letter bee. You got some personal.”

She produced a formal looking envelope adorned with golden lines, and handed it to Springtrap. Whose confusion only grew. And she was gone again.

“The heck. Since when... I mean...”  
“People get letters sometimes.” said Vincent “Even with all that electronic communication, having some paper in your hands still feels nice. Who send it?”  
“Some... Gregor and Penelope... erm.. Ei-ken-boom. I have no clue who this could be.”

“Well, open it and have a look.”

Springtrap did. The actual letter, too, was looking fancy.

“Huh... Invitation to... a funeral? Who... blabla, our beloved daughter – oh! – Marianne. So they found... aha blabla after seven years bla... remains retrieved thanks to – hey, they even wrote my name! Blabla... Oh crap. Oh crap!”

“Well, I think it's a nice move to invite you. Since you were the one finally solving this.”  
“Yeah whatever, but that's just two more days!”  
“And?”  
“You really think I could attend a funeral wearing a tanktop with a bunny head printed on?”

“So... you plan to attend it?”  
“Sure.”

“Not even doubting for a second?”  
“It's a funeral, you don't really say no.”  
“There's probably many, many different people.”

“... oh.”  
Vincent sported a pleased smirk. That still was growing.

“Well well... sounds like you now have two good reasons doing some shopping with me, hm?”

 

 

“I don't know.” said Springtrap, looking at his reflection.

“Don't know what?”  
“If I like it. I mean... It's all just plain black and gray and stuff. I thought people would have moved on a little – they sure did when it comes to everyday fashion! – but this is the same shit you wore thirty years ago.”

“It is timeless chic.”

“Meh. I'm just a guest. It's not ME who's getting buried. But I certainly look like that.”

Vincent snickered.

“Well, it's the first one you donned, so it's no real wonder that you are not happy. Actually, it would have been a surprise if you were one of those guys taking the first thing they grabbed.”  
“Why?”

“Because I am not. And we are more similar than you would think.”

“Pff. Except that you are the sun and I am a dirty and dark night sky.”  
“Still being part of the firmament. So, if you don't like this one, we'll just get another.”  
“Can't I have a white suit?”  
“A.. white one? For a funeral?”

“Oh, I have the slight feeling that my clothes won't be the major reason for people to stare at me.”  
“Hm. Sounds unorthodox. I like it. And might happen to know right the place to get it.”

Some minutes later, they left the store and get back into Vincent's van. It was a rather huge car, offering place for a number of people. A pink teddy bear was sitting on the place between driver and co-driver, probably forgotten by one of Vincent's grandchildren.

“You are doing good, so far.” said the older brother.

“You reall-”  
“I wouldn't say this if I wasn't really thinking it.”

Springtrap let out a sigh.

“Well. Okay. You wanna hear it? I think this too. I'm not even that nervous.”

“Oh boy, did you just say something good about yourself? Pinch me.”  
“Very funny.” but Springtrap sported a grin as well.

“City hasn't changed that much, huh?”  
“It did. Is far greener than I remember it. And cleaner.”  
“Being a member of the GCCP means that we are supposed to have an eye on the environment. And it turned out that recycling reduces the amount of things the US has to import. Which in turn reduces the trade deficit.”

“Do they still struggle?”  
“Somewhat. But not evenly distributed. I would say, my family is just an inch over the line. The gap between us and... those who are less lucky, is larger then ever. But overall... let's say, it is save for now. We get some money from the GCCP, was even enough to pay that colonization reparation some years ago. But things will need a while to get back to how it was before WW3.”

“Wow... has been thirty years and that war has still its impact.”

“Siberia is a nuclear wasteland. And what's left of Russia was swallowed by insignificance. On the other side, China is not better off. Got split into three states: Red China and that wannabe Empire are third world. The Free Republic is somewhat doing better, but still paying reparations.”

“So, both communist powerhouses managed to knock each other out.”

“That would sum it up.”  
“And we knocked ourselves out.”

“True. Sadly. Oh, about this: President Millers had been sued, did you know?”  
“Whoa, really?”  
“Yep. The USA had no justifiable reason jumping into the war, and it was clear for everyone to see that this would put too much of a strain to national finances. And still he entered.”  
“Wow. A President sued. For WAR. What a time to be ali... er, around. To be around.”

They drove almost all the way up to Quincy. Vincent pulled into an easy to be overlooked side road, and parked right in front of a store.

“That's it?” asked Springtrap, glancing at the nondescript facade.

“Indeed. That's Parscel's. Somewhat close to a well known secret tip. If you won't get what you want from ordinary stores, you might get it here.”

“Sounds like you are a regular.”  
“You could say this, yes. My kids still think that I am the best to ask when they need fancy clothes. I got all my boys' suits here, for proms, graduation, and weddings. Hah, for Oliver's big day we even had to get two, since he's with another man. That was quite something getting the two of them dressed. Oliver is a compact hunk, Mike long and skinny. And still they wanted something that looked similar. Oh don't get me wrong. They also have quite lovely dresses and gowns here. Lilly still swoons over that one we got her for her last prom.”

Springtrap was not convinced at all, still staring at the narrow row house.

“It's tiny.”  
“Hah. Don't get fooled. The whole block is one single store. They just left the old looks intact.”

Now he looked up and down the road.

“Okay. It's HUGE.”

“It is. And not the cheapest, but hey.”  
“And there you lost me. You think I could afford this?”  
“William, I managed your bank account for the last thirty years. Even with all that inflation you got a nice sum to spend.”  
“If you say so...”

“I do. Let's get you something.”

It was a nice place. Even with being a huge retail, it was neatly sorted and had some charm a business placed in a grand hall would never be able to have. They had a large section of everyday clothes, too. And Vincent had a hard time convincing his brother not to buy even more stuff with bunnies printed on them.

A whole set of three houses were reserved for formal attire. Naturally, gowns and dresses and suits for ladies formed the majority, but even those things made for men were extraordinary. Colors. Not just gray and black and blue. Plus size as well as ethnic dresses.

“Wow.” said Springtrap in awe “That's really cool! Are those native clothes?”  
“Yes. Wabanaki is not far away.”  
“Wabawhat?”  
“It used to be Maine. You remember? That stretch of pine forest north of Massachusetts that happen to be a state as well? It's now the First Nation of Wabanaki. You ought to remember, they founded it in '85.”

“Vaguely. Had other things going on in my head. So, it's natives there?”

“Indeed. Some whites, too, but mainly first Americans. They are doing quite well, thanks to the money all victims of colonization got some years ago. A pleasant people.”  
“It's nice to see these in here. I mean... side by side with our stuff.”  
“I agree. But let's focus on getting you something to wear. White is maybe not that common when it comes to suits, but I'm sure we will find some.”

It didn't take them long. Just twenty minutes later, they left the store, Springtrap being a proud owner of a nice, white suit, complete with a black shirt and a purple tie. While the staff did need a little bit to get used to the idea of a robotic bunny in a suit, Vincent's skill at interacting with people and calming the nerves was enough to get it all done smoothly.

“So, what now?” he asked back in his van.

“Mission complete?”  
“Hah. You really think I would simply drive you back, hm? No sir. I got you out of that cell, and going to take an advantage of this.”

“Wow. Where did this mischief come from?”  
“William. I'm a father of seven. One needs to develop some strategies to move stubborn people in a acceptable direction.”

“Hmpf. Luckily, my ratio is joining your side in this betrayal.”

“Naturally. I'm on the winning side, after all. So, any ideas what place you want to visit? Tank is full.”

Springtrap needed a moment to think about this offer. If it was to be called an 'offer'.

“Urm... well. If I have to pick one... You know, I think I would like to visit my old flat.”

“Sure, we can go there. But the building was bulldozed some time ago. You probably won't recognize much.”

“Oh... okay. But anyway. Maybe I get a better idea while we are on our way.”

Vincent nodded, and they hit the road.

Indeed, this part of the city had changed quite a lot. Even the layout of the streets was not how Springtrap remembered it. In his time, this used to be a run down neighborhood. Cheap flats, cramped roads, people who didn't care about anything. While it had not turned into luxurious living quarters, the new blocks were neat to look at, the roads were broader and framed by decent greenery.

“Boy, that's really it?”

“It is.” answered Vincent “Some of the old buildings were almost at the point of collapse. So they had to do something. I don't really remember when, but it has at least been eight years or so.”

“Turned out nice. You know how the rent is?”

“No, sorry. Why?”  
“Uh. No clue. Perhaps I would like to know if I were still living here if I hadn't died.”  
“I think not. As soon as I would have my own house I would have moved you into it.”  
“You think I would have complied?”  
“I used to be a construction worker. Had the brawn to just pick you up and carry you.”

“Good thing that I am by now two hundred fifty pounds.”

“Would still dare to try it.” was Vincent's respond, and it made Springtrap smile.

“I can't really say where my block was. With the roads all new. I wonder what happened to my stuff...”

“I cleared your place after you were filed missing.”  
“Oh boy really?”  
“Was your closest relative here.”  
“You dug through my dirty laundry.”

“If I remember correctly, there wasn't any. You didn't had much. The car I sold. And what was left I put into a couple of crates. I still have them, so whenever you move out of jail you can have it all back.”

“Sorry for the trouble.”

“Yeah. Next time you better write a note.”

“'Gonna be killed today, please water the plants'. Something like that?”

“Close enough.”

Both smirked, while looking around the area.

“So. I lived here... wow. I probably walked these streets. Hard to believe. That whole day-to-day life is the first thing you forget. Feels almost comical to think that I used to get up every morning, drive at Fazbear's, work there, and go home again. Don't get me started with things like eating. I used to eat, can you imagine this? Wow. And went to the bathroom, too.”

“These are the things you remember now? Really?”  
“There isn't that much else, right? Being human... alive... its just sleep, eat, and shit.”

“And spend some time with your brother.” added Vincent “Prepare lunch for the kids. Making little cheese mice. Put some crayon doodles on the fridge and defend them against your critic of a wife. Yell at the cat for trying to eat plastic. Have a stare down with that mother at the store because you definitely need that last package of diapers more then she does. Read the same story to the kids for years. Until you won't need the book any more because you know it all by heart. Crying at each and every wedding. Being named Cry Bear because of this... but yeah. Basically it's just those three things.”

“Wow.”

“You know we had kind of the same starting conditions. And... and I'm telling you this not because I want to brag that I made it, but because I want you to see and understand that there are other ways. That other things are possible. You will get there. As long as I am around I will try to get you there.”  
“Why?”

“Because you are my brother, William. And I love you like a brother loves his brother. That's what family is supposed to be.”

Springtrap didn't know what to respond to this.

He looked around some more, without leaving the van. There was nothing he would recognize. Not sure if he was supposed to be sad, or happy that this episode of his existence was over, he got another idea.

It was a different part of the city. A little bit older, filled with single-family homes. While some were new or renovated, the majority was still like Springtrap remembered.

Together they looked at the house in front of them.

“Not doing anything, hm?” asked Vincent after some silent minutes had passed.

“Yep. Not a single nudge.”  
“To be fair, they have done something to the facade, but overall it's the same house.”

“Yeah... that window on the left was the kitchen. And our room was looking at the porch.”

“Hard to believe that we used to sleep in the same room for almost twenty years.”

“You started to snore quite early.”

“And you had nightmares all the time.”

“Oh? I don't remember...”  
“And I don't remember snoring. Was asleep while doing it.”

Again, some quite moments went by.

Snowflakes started to fall from the sky, silently dancing through the air, before meeting their siblings already lying on the ground.

“Are you fine?” asked Vincent.

“Think so. There are thicker layers of shit lying over this one, so... Let's have a walk. There is another house in the neighborhood I'd like to see.”

“Is that a good idea?”  
Springtrap looked up, and smiled.

“I am with you. That's the stablest I could be.”

“If you say so...”  
And they walked down the road.

“I guess that was a crooked way to say 'thank you'. I know I should do this more often. It's just... hard to do while some part of me thinks that you are stupid for wasting your time.”

“You know that it's not waste. And even if, it's my time, and I waste it the way I want.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, thank you too for letting me. For letting everyone.”

They arrived at a junction, and Springtrap stopped. Staring at one house at the other side of the road. It was run down. Probably abandoned for years. The windows where all boarded up, the small lawn was a mess. Almost impressive – in a bad way – were the graffiti. Nearly every single square centimeter of the whole building was covered by it. Mostly slurs. Verbal attacks. Treats and hate. A prayer here and there, aimed at the victims of the woman that once called this home. The color was fading, the latest pictures were at least some years old.

“Okay, that's not really what I was expecting.” said Springtrap, curiously eying the ruined homestead.

“Was quite an event when she finally got caught in 2008.” remembered Vincent “People were in shock that an inhabitant of this oh so tranquil city could do something like that. Some would call it a wake-up call or something similar.”

“How was she found?”  
“Oh I really don't remember that well. The media was busy talking about her deeds and trying to build up tinfoil hat theories. Became absurd pretty fast. And nothing else for two months.”  
“Did you know about me?”  
“No. That's something I researched only after I got to read your diary. You were not her first sidekick. And not the last.”  
“But probably the busiest.”

“Yes.”

“That's what I thought.”

“You don't seem too upset.”

Springtrap just shrug.

“It's like you all say. That's the past.” and he pointed to the house “An ugly pile of trash, that will probably collapse soon to be bulldozed and replaced. Hey, sure, I was in there. In this very house I lost my virginity to some grown women. That may sound stupid now, but it's quite a picture: I cannot go into there and take it back.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**12.01.2020 – The Fading Rooms** (Project Specter: 8)

 

 

It was a cold, bright day. The bleak winter sun made the snow shine like a pearl's surface, in stark contrast to the black cloth people were wearing.

They remained silent. Family. Friends. Respectful. Most, if not all of them, had been able to move on. Seven years of waiting had been enough to accept the fact that Marianne Eikenboom would never return. Some were probably actually relieved that this elongated nightmare was finally over. Marianne's father, and his three brothers, carried the coffin. It was a rather small one, since not much was left to be put into.

The procession stopped at, and gathered around an open grave. The coffin was put on a table, adorned with wintery green. Red holly berries dotted the overall decent arrangement. Everyone remained silent, as the priest walked up to the podium in front of the coffin, and looked professionally over the gathered people. He was holding a book, probably a bible, but he did not open it.

Despite being not the youngest, his voice was still rather strong. He talked about the ups and downs of life. And that light will always cast a shadow. That this would be the way of God, and that it is up to humans to try to see the light, and accept the shadows as parts of it. He said, that the memories of the living define the dead. And that those who were left behind should try to remind themselves on the good times, the enjoyable moments, the laughter they shared. That all bad things happened for a reason: to complete the bigger picture. You always need some dark colors to make the light ones shine.

It was a nice speech. And he was a nice speaker.

Mrs. Eikenboom was the one following the priest. A tall and slender women in her late forties, she seemed not the type to be riddled by emotions. Or maybe she was just holding them down. She talked much about her daughter's life, about wishes, dreams, achievements and setbacks. While her speech was not as inspiring as the one of the priest, it drew a picture of who Marianne actually had been.

Important for those like Springtrap. People hadn't been bothered by him. Either they had been filled in before, or they just didn't care about a guy in a bunny costume, wearing a white suit and a purple tie for a funeral. While the stares he had expected failed to appear, he still felt uncomfortable. Always making sure to stay behind the others at least some steps. They all knew each other. He was a stranger.

After Marianne's mother finished her part, Greg stepped up. He looked like he was the only one here really shaken by the fact that, finally, his daughter would be put to rest. Twice he tried to start his speech, twice he failed to finish the first sentence. For a moment, he looked down to his notes. Then he sighed, and shoved them into his pockets.

“The day I have seen my daughter for the last time was a hot and ugly summer day. On of those days where you are not sure if you're sweating or already melting. I remember that we had a fight this very day. She wanted to go to Europe, studying arts. I told her that, even in Europe, artists are prone to starve. Didn't change my mind about this, by the way. But Marianne was clearly my girl. She looked at me, and snarled back that I clearly was starved, too, in the brain department. That evening she left for a party. I knew where she was heading at, this much I could get out of her. Told her she'd better be back before I was up in the morning. I... I wish she had been. She didn't come back at all. Thought I should be angry about my self for being _that_ kind of dad. That our last conversation was me yelling at her to be back in time. But then again, even with me acting like _this_ , I could not save her. She met a man. Quite older than her, actually. And one of those men who never learned the meaning of 'no'. She was raped. Twice. But she was her mother's daughter after all, and fought back. Enough to break his upper arm. Even in her last moments, she was braver and stronger than I have ever been. She was brave. My Marianne. Strong. Born with one eye almost blind, she went trough so much hate and difficulties. But kept her head up. Spoke her mind. Fought her way. But all those who fight might someday find someone who is stronger. He killed her. Hide her. Hide his tracks. Nobody was able to find her. I moved heaven and hell to get this solved. Nothing. Her disappearance remained an unsolved case for seven years. Probably no one of you knew this, but I never really was done with this. Managed the face of a stern officer to keep you all from worrying about me. I... I don't remember if there had been a single night since my daughter's dead that went by without me waking up in tears. That's certainly not the picture you all had of good old Greg. I couldn't go on like this. Quit my job. Moved to become a prison guard. I thought, if I wasn't able to do my job – solving crimes – I might be able to guard those criminals who had been found. Today I might say it had been destiny. My very first day in my new job, and I happen to meet someone able to see the deceased. And this someone told me, in fact, that my daughter, my Marianne, had been with me all the time. Laugh all you want. I would have, too. Sure, an inmate in a high security facility specialized on mentally ill criminals revealing mysterious fact about the ghost of my daughter. Fun story. And to be honest, I am still not able to believe it. But it was the truth. That guy's story is far too complicated to be a made up lie. And when some stranger's hints really led you to the hiding place of your daughter's remains - and not only that! Even to her murderer! - than you are ready to rethink a thing or two. We are able to lay her to rest today because of one single man. And... I would like to thank you, again, for this, Mister Afton. I am no specialist with mystical phenomena. But I am a specialist with crimes. The DNA was fitting, the corpse was hidden where you said, the knife, too. The face you drew was perfect. I am able to put my daughter to rest because of you. I am able to sleep again, because both, officer Eikenboom the police bull, and Greg the father, know that the murderer of Marianne had been brought to justice. And whatever metaphysical thing is going on here, I don't care. You solved a case of murder, that went on for seven years without a single step forwards. That much I understand. Be it God or Satan who keeps you here, or alien powers or Cthulhu himself, I don't care. I _don't_ care. You've earned my trust. And my gratitude.”

And he moved away. His wife was offering him a little support by grabbing his hand and squeezing it. That didn't keep him from shedding a tear or two.

This speech had probably not been what people expected. And honestly: it didn't fit that type of person Greg looked like. Some people glanced back at Springtrap, while most were busy mumbling and whispering.

Only when the priest went back to the podium, peoples' voices died down. Now, the bible was open. Now, the actual funeral was about to happen. Marianne Eikenboom would be put to rest, blessed by God. Again, Springtrap felt uncomfortable. A moment or two he thought about leaving. Not because he was offended by it. Quite the other way around. He was not a Christian, not even baptized. And he didn't really want to disturb their sacred ritual. That was his form of respect. Which was a rather stark contrast to what he usually had to say about faithful people.

Before he actually could make a decision, a wave of nausea hit him out of the sudden. It felt almost like someone was grabbing him, to pull him somewhere. His view blurred, became gray, then black, then gray again.

And he wasn't standing on a graveyard any more.

A long, seemingly endless hallway opened up in front of him, filled with slowly swirling mist. It felt cold. But somehow dry.

Out of the fog came a person. As pale as the corridor, as blurred as the mists.

A ghost.

The ghost of Marianne Eikenboom.

“Hello, William.” she said in a calm voice that echoed within the hallway.

“Hi? So... urm... fancy to tell me where the heck I am?!”

“These are the Fading Rooms.” answered Marianne.

“Cool. And what the heck are the Fading Rooms?”

She smiled, in a sad way.

“An endless maze between life and death. You probably have been here before, but you are not able to remember because you are not really dead.”

William looked around. The ever-present fog made it difficult to actually see something. Raw shapes of long corridors with no visible ceiling, but many winding branches leading into the grayed-out distance. There wasn't anything in here, and at the same time, he felt... cramped. Something deep within his very soul made it clear to him that he wasn't supposed to be here.

“Is this hell?”  
“Not quite that, no. Heaven and Hell... are... concepts. People get there, if they think this is what they deserve. The Fading Rooms are the connection between all those places, the good and the bad. Some people easily find their way. If they died a natural death, they won't even know that their afterlife is just a path the Rooms laid out for them. But those of us who died before their time... will spend years in here, without finding their way, because we came here before the Rooms were ready to lead us down or personal path. I often tried to find mine. But no matter how long I wandered, every time I turned around, my father was just two feet away.”  
“I... I am sorry for you. Being lost is... probably the worst thing that could happen to someone. Anyone.”  
“It is. I think, if you were actually dead, you would be doomed to spend decades in here. Centuries even. Maybe you would just grow frustrated and turn around, to haunt the living.”  
“Wow. Is that why ghosts are always so pissed?”  
“Indeed. They didn't find their way. Some grow desperate, trying to get help. Some get the idea that they have business on Earth that needs to be finished. Some just think that, if they won't be able to move on, they could as well try to have some fun. Or revenge. There are many reasons, actually. For me, it was pity. I could feel my father's grief. It kept me from going on. Knowing that, even in death, I am still the reason for a person to wake up every night, crying...” Marianne sighed.

And looked at a spot behind William. He turned around as well, was surprised to see the graveyard, and all the people gathered there. He could even... see himself. As if he looked trough a sheet of gray silk. Standing a little bit further away from the actual family. The white suit sure did look good.

“I can no longer go back. The bonding is cut.” claimed Marianne, and she sounded both sad and relived “They will put me to rest. I will get all the blessings of the faith I had when I was alive. By now I see how... huge the gap between my faith and the reality is, but still... but still, it was my belief. The Fading Rooms react to it. They will shape themselves into what I think to be right. Ultimately, we are trapped here because we are trapped within ourselves.”

“And why... how did you get me here?”

“It was easy, really. You are... just within reach. I could never move far away from my father, since he was the reason I was stuck. But you... you are different. You are just on the brink of the the Rooms. At any given time you have half a foot in here, yet your bonding to the living world is indestructible. I don't know. You had not been aware of the Rooms, almost like someone had closed the door for you. So... I thought I might as well show you, and teach you the few things I learned. As a way to say thank you. It might be useful to you some day. I have the feeling that, if you wanted, you could easily travel through the Fading Rooms. But... well. That is not the full reason. Maybe not even the most important. I got you here because I would... would like to ask for one more favor. The last wish of a dead girl.”

“Well if it is something I can do, I'd be happy to help.”

Marianne smiled. Her silhouette was far from what Springtrap had seen the day they met. She was fading. From her thighs downwards, the pants she was wearing turned into tattered, loose tendrils of grayish, spectral matter. Her face had lost some of its expression, the eyes were empty holes, her long hair swayed like it was submerged. But still, she was a nice looking young women. That smile suited her well.

“This might be strange for you.” she started “Well... Originally I wanted to attend my funeral, but I can't. As I said, I can't go back any more. And since time here is... working... in a... different way, you won't be able to tell them what I tell you. But... You are somewhat of a gateway. That's the way I see you. Would you... allow me, for the last time, to speak to my family? Trough you?”

 

 

An uncertain amount of time, Springtrap regained consciousness.

He remembered the Rooms. How they felt. What Marianne told him. Thinking of this, he could sense a chill running down his artificial spine. And yet, being in the Fading Rooms had felt somewhat like... being home. A horrible, abusive home filled with bad emotions, but still it deserved the term 'home'. He looked around a little, and... indeed. Now that he knew what to search for, he could feel the presence of the Rooms. Just within his grasp. Just a single step away. If they had always been this near, or if something about Marianne made them open to him, he could not say. Not thinking about them made them move so far away that they left his mind altogether. Just to be called again by a single thought.

It was just now that he got some awareness of his actual situation. He was laying on a park bench, and someone was holding his hand. Getting up revealed it to be Marianne's mother. With many other funeral attendees standing around, looking worried or surprised or both.

“Excuse me?” said Springtrap “Did I... did I black out or something?”

“You do not remember?” asked Mrs. Eikenboom.

“Erm... last thing I got was the priest starting his sermon. I... oh gosh sorry I didn't want to disturb you being an atheist and all!”  
“You did not. We invited you, you are welcome. No worries about your and our faith not matching.”

“If you say so... urgh... after that it's a little blurry with me not being here at all and your daughter talking to me about the other side and such... but... but than I might have a little hole were my memories should be. I... I didn't do something nasty, did I? Sorry...”

“Don't worry, sonny.” said Greg “You just shattered some peoples' understanding of the very groundwork of reality, that's all. Should be used to this by now, eh?”  
“Yeah. I should. But usually I don't black out while doing this.”

“She was here.” mumbled Greg's wife “She... she was. At first, when you started... to talk, we... I thought you wanted to prank us. But...”  
“Your voice changed.”  
“Into hers.”

“You sure? That thingy I use to talk is so old that it can't emulate any other form of voice but... well, this one.”

“It was her.” affirmed Mrs. Eikenboom again “We got to say goodbye. You allowed us to say our farewell to our daughter. She.. she said this might be a little bit too much for you, and...”  
“Then she left. Everyone here could feel this. It was like... a nice, warm autumn breeze. It brought peace. It warmed parts of... of my heart I never knew to be there. She left. For good. All the years I never felt her presence, but now... I was allowed to feel her leaving this world.”

Springtrap finally got up from the bench, just to sit down again since he was not yet able to stand upright.

“I'm sorry that I crashed your... this event.” he said “I mean, I didn't really want to... To be fair, when I agreed that she could speak trough me, I didn't knew that... it would leave me with a blackout, and a hangover.”

Both parents sported a amused look.

“You're a good man, Mr. Afton.” said Greg “Maybe you don't know it yet, but time will show you.”

The sermon was brought to an end, without any further interruption.

Some people said their good bye and left. All the others started to flock back to the parking plot, getting ready to move to the funeral reception. Springtrap being possessed by the ghost of the very women that had been put to rest would surely turn into some sort of family story. Even after a strange thing like this happened, people stayed calm. Most seemed to be at peace. Not happy, of course, but they all had felt how the soul of a dead women had moved on. This had a strange effect of their minds, and hearts.

Before reaching the plot, Springtrap was stopped by the priest. First he thought that he might had done something wrong, but the old man sported a faint smile, looked up and down the bunny, and asked if he might have some minutes spare to talk. Springtrap agreed, a little nervously, said good bye to the Eikenbooms, who both wished them all the best and a successful recovery, and after this, he found himself sitting on a bench together with an old priest.

Who didn't say anything at first, just letting his gaze wander over the snow-covered graves.

“So, my son.” he finally began “You have been... _there_.”

“You.. you know?”  
“Of course. I welcome people into our community, and I bide them farewell. Death is as much part of my duties as life. It is sad when I have to administer both these sacraments to the same person, but things have to be done.”  
“I am sorry if I somehow upset you... your honor?”

The priest chuckled a little, and then put his very intense gaze upon Springtrap. But he would not look at his eyes, nor his face in general, but stare at a point somewhere located in the bunny robot's chest. Probably right there where the batteries were supposed to be. Where the actual specter was located.

“You didn't. I could sense her presence. It is rare that those who left us are able to talk to us, but it happens. And this fact makes it the will of our Lord.”  
“Well, about that...”  
“Exactly this is why I wanted a talk with you. I have never been _there_. The living are not welcome in the Rooms. But I had the opportunity to meet some people who did cross the veil. Both, ghosts, and... well. The Undead. I know what they have to say. But this doesn't change anything. Quite the opposite, actually. It is a prove that faith will lead you somewhere. Maybe there are different ways and paths, yes. Maybe ours is not the best. Who knows. Maybe God did put up the Rooms. Maybe he is just one of many creators. No mortal will ever truly understand. But you, maybe, will at least make some steps.”  
“What... what makes you think that?”  
“You are an Undead. You left this world without leaving it. You are part of it. But you also have free access to the Fading Rooms. And as far as I see it, there is not much on this world that could possibly chance this. You will be here. For... a very long time. Between life and death, part of both, owned by neither. Do not despair. I know and respect that you don't share my view, but then again... you already changed yours, because you learned something new. So: Do not let the quarrels of this world or the next one get the better of you. There is a meaning in this. And even if it is just as simple as allowing you to do good. Like you did today.”

“I did nothing.”

“You healed a father's broken heart.”  
“Marianne did.”  
“You allowed her. Many are afraid of the other side. The human mind fears that, when they get into touch with death, it will soon come to them.”  
“I... I just made contact between them possible. That's what I did. Not more. Don't paint this like a heroic deed.”

The old man smiled. And again he looked over the graveyard.

“Our books are full of heroes.” he said “People who build, people who fought, people who repaired, people who created. Some did bad things before they found they way. Some did bad things and claimed to do it for a greater good. But, my son, you know the single trait all these different heroes share?”

“Tell me.”

“They _did_ something.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**23.01.2020 – The Good Silver** (Project Specter: 9)

 

 

“Hey Springy, you here?”

“Yeah sure, where else?”

Admin entered the cell. Which was unusual, to say the least, since he barely ever left his office. But now he was here. And seemed somewhat worried.

“Okaaay... that may sound strange now. You ready for some strangeness?”

Springtrap just gave him a bored look.

“Dude... I'm a tech ghost in a bunny suit. Strange is the core of my... not-life.”

“Kay, fine. Police just called. They want you to help them.”

The bored face changed rapidly into a confused one.

“The fuck?”

“Hah. Gottcha.”

“For real? What do they want from ME?”

“Well. You made some impression, chatting with that ghostly daughter of a well know former officer and solving her case. People talk, you know. Short version: They have a problem with, well, another ghost. The type that doesn't like it when some living person gets close. They tried some medium or so, but... that person got stabbed as well. So. Now. It's you. Since you are already dead and are able to see and speak to ghost like it was nothing complicated.”

“The fuck.”

“You up to it? I get some guards ready, and a car.”

 

 

“Ugh. Why the small one?” mumbled Springtrap.

“Excuse me?”

“The small car. I hate it. My bunny ears get crushed. Ugh...”

The guard glanced a second or two, then his view went back to the road. He smiled a little.

Most employees of the prison were used to Springtrap by now. The revelation that he was more or less a result of a failed experiment took away a little of the spookieness. And, after his tinkering with the suit, it looked far more natural and fluffy. No visible metal parts, no huge, cold eyes. Another plus was, that, compared to the other inmates, he was rather nice company. And not at all dangerous. The two guards were barely there to make him feel save.

The road trip was quite short. Just ten minutes later they arrived in a run down neighborhood. Many homes were in bad shape, some even abandoned and close to collapsing.

A large number of police vehicles surrounded a huge, old house at the end of the road. Most officers seemed stressed, nervous or angry. The moment the prison transporter arrived, it already was surrounded by people.

Springtrap felt really nervous while getting out of the car. Of course he could hear those whispers. And feel the irritated views. And suddenly, he was rather happy to wear clothes. Normal, everyday, human-clothes. His shirt had a bunny face printed on it. A joke, of course, but was enough to get people smiling. The flock of officers parted, and the chief made her way towards the newcomers.

“Good morning.” she said, in a tone that made clear how unhappy she was about this whole situation.

Nevertheless, she shook Springtrap's hand.

“I'm Penny. And I really hope you turn out more useful than our last ghostseer.”

Springtrap, still nervous, tried to smile. But halfway trough it turned into a sigh.

“I'll try. But if it's a ghost in rage, it might turn out to be a bad idea.”  
“I be honest, last guy we send into there got stabbed. Around a hundred times or so. I think you're dead meat already.”

“Hey, my corpse is stored seven kilometers from here, so there's not much to stab at.”

That, at least, irritated her enough to leave her professional mode. She took a closer look on Springtrap, then, as too seek help, she looked over to the two prison guards.

“So, it's true then? A possessed animatronic rabbit suit.”

“I prefer bunny. But yes. Now. Care to fill me in?”

Officer Penny sighed, then she went back into roll.

“Of course. The building is long abandoned. Last owners went in there a couple of years ago. And are missed ever since. You can see that the house is neglected, so, after all this time, some neighbor got finally worried enough to call us. That was three days ago. By now, we lost six guys to whatever is haunting the place. We have tapes that clearly show a knife, floating in the air, and stabbing every person that dares to enter the hallway. A higher-up ordered to call in a medium. He's dead for two hours now. So, same higher-up got the idea that you could do the job, since word has you found old Eikenbooms daughter. I'm honest, personally I would burn this place down, but we need to get the corpses of our colleagues first.”

“You want me to go in there and drag some dead bodies out?”  
“Yes. But first, please, try to find out what the hell is going on in there. If you are really able to talk to dead people like they say.” the way she said this made clear that she did not believe a single word. Springtrap thought about this for a moment, while looking over the old house.

“Hm, okay. Let me see the tapes.”

“Why?”  
“IF it is a ghost, I'll be able to see it. If not it's not a ghost, then I'm rather useless here.”

“Fair enough. Come with me.”

Together they went to a mobile task base, equipped with a broad cast of technology. Springtrap got the feeling that this case was somewhat of a pain. Of course, loosing six police men and a civilian in just three days was nothing short of a disaster. At least, police nowadays took things more serious. Back in his time, thought Springtrap, nobody gave a shit about tales of a haunted pizzeria. Unfortunately.

Officer Penny shoved a disc into a player, and tapped the screen. Just seconds later, the video went on. It was a camera, probably somewhere on an officer's jacket, while he entered the house. Inside, it was as rundown as from the outside. And there were corpses. Springtrap counted three. The police man was talking, tried to calm down whoever was in there. No use. Out of nowhere, a bloody, floating bread knife appeared, and whiteout hesitation it was rammed into the officer's stomach. And again. And again. Even when the guy went down, the knife kept stabbing him, until the record finally stopped.

At least that was what normal people were able to see.

For Springtrap, it was clear: A pale, withering shape of an old women was holding the knife. Her features showed rage and sadness, the eyes black and hollow.

“So. What do you think?” asked Penny.

“Clearly a ghost. An elderly women, maybe in her sixties. She seems to be very angry.”

The police women nodded. Maybe she had been expecting this, or she was happy to finally have someone who was able to help at her side.

“So, you're going to help us, Mr...?”

“Afton. William Afton. Or Springtrap, if you like that. And yes, I try to talk to her.”

Penny let out the breath she was holding, and, for the first time, smiled.

“Thank you.”

Just two minutes later, Springtrap entered the house. They had given him a camera, a flash light, and a taser. Just in case. He did feel a little nervous again, not knowing if he was able to actually communicate with the ghost women. The hallway was longer than it appeared on screen, even took a turn to the right. He was able to see the dead officers. The last one lied there, too, in a bloody mess.

Even with knowing what was going to happen, Springtrap was scared when the ghost – and the knife – appeared. Before he could react, the knife was driven into his stomach. And got stuck there, between parts of his metal spine. Which, in turn, confused the ghost, and gave Springtrap enough time to finally do something.

“It's no use, I am already dead.” he said.

The ghost froze. Stared at him.

“By the way, nice to meet you. A cozy little home you got here. The bloody bodies really give it some character.”

Making cheap jokes was everything he could think about right now. But luckily, it seemed to work. The ghost let go of the knife, turned around and phased through the wall.

“Hey! Stay here! I just want to talk to you!” and Springtrap followed her.

Just to be greeted by more corpses.

And another knife.

Again, it was stuck. Again the ghost was confused.

“Girl, I'm as dead as you.” he said, tried to talk as calmly and relaxed as possible “Can you hear me?”

“Yes?” said the ghost, still unsure what was going on.

“Cool. Who are you?”

“Jennifer. Jennifer Silverman. This... this is my house! Get out of here!”

“Nope. You're dead. Dead people can't own anything. And by the way, your house will turn into a pile of rubble soon.”

“Get out!”

“Or what? Gonna try to club me with a saucer?”

She remained silent for a moment. Which gave Springtrap some time to think about his next moves. He was relieved that he really was able to talk to the ghost. But what now? Somehow he thought that keeping the conversation going was his best chance, so he went on with smalltalk.

“So, Mrs. Silverman. You want your knifes back?” and he pulled both of them out with a tuck “That's some fine dinnerware by the way. Where did you get them?”

“These were... gifts. From my mother in law.” she answered, staring at the offered knifes, but not taking them back “She was a nice women. Even after my husband died.”  
“Oh, that's nothing to take for granted.”  
“Indeed. Are you married?”

“Nope. Never was. The one person I ever had feelings for turned out to be a serial killer.”

“Oh... oh dear.”

“Yep, but back to you. How long did you live here?”  
“We build this house in 1976. Conrad and me.”  
“And you came here from the UK?”  
“How do you know?”  
“Hah. You have that accent. My family came from there, too. Lincoln.”

“Oxford. We came from Oxford.”  
“Cool. And you build this nice home for yourself?”  
“Yes. We... we wanted a large and happy family. Large it became, but happy... not so much.”

Springtrap was calm by now. The ghost was rather easy to access, fortunately. For a moment he thought that the police, listening trough his camera, was only able to hear half of the talk, but he didn't care. He had to move on.

“You were a stay at home mother, I take it?”  
“Yes. Conrad worked for a bank, we had enough income.”

“Well, that's groundwork for a happy fam, so what went wrong?”

“I... I don't know. I just don't know. I gave them all the love and care and made sure they went to the best schools we could afford. Even in world war three I tried to spend every spare coin for the kids. And that's how they thanked me. By killing me.”

“Ouch.”

She remained silent. Nothing was left from her anger, by now she was just an old, tired women. Springtrap felt sorry for her, and tried to think of something he could do.

“Why are you here?” she asked suddenly.

“Here, in your house?”  
“No. Here. On earth. I can see that you are dead, but you are not like me.”

“Heh, that's a story. Short version: This bunny suit killed me. It was some wicked experiment that was supposed to turn me into some mindless energy source, but... failed. I'm some kind of tech ghost. Sapient electricity. An Undead.”

“You have no real reason to stay here?”  
“Nope. No higher calling or unfinished stuff. Just missed my train into the Fading Rooms.”

“That's horrible.”  
“Every dead is horrible. Being killed by your own children is what I would call worse. Why the hell did they do it?”

“The house. It was... an accident. I remember. We had a fight about the house. After my husband died. They wanted to sell it. Sell my home. They said it was too expensive to keep. After I lost my Conrad, they wanted to take away the last thing I had. I... I fell. I fell down the stairs. I remember it. Why did I think that they killed me?”

“Perhaps because you were angry at them when you died?”

She nodded.

“Angry I was. I still am. They... they did not bury me. They took the corpse, and... they put me in a hollow wall, and filled it with concrete.”

“Oh shit. Really? That's awful.”

“Yes. I don't know why they did this. I was angry. I remember... the next time they came here... I... I just took the knife. I just took it. And...”

The ghost buried her face in her hands, and started to cry. It was an eerie sound, quite, but still able to fill the whole room.

“I feel you.” answered Springtrap “When humans have nothing but a single pebble left, they are willing to do anything to keep it save.”

“Oh how would you know!” suddenly, the ghost fell back into rage “I gave them anything, and they let my die! They wanted to own the last thing I got, and left me to rot here! How would you know! You never suffered like I did!”

“Probably no, but-”

“Oh now you're saying that all people suffer, that is not true! My own kids let me die! In my own house!”

“Hey, calm down, please, I don't wan-”  
“I know what you want. You want to take away my home! You pretend to understand my suffering, to steal what belongs to me!”

“That's not tr-”  
“IF you know what suffering feels like, show me!”

And within a fraction of a second, she materialized in front of Springtrap, her ghostly hands buried deep into his chest. Touching his very essence. It felt like a gate opening. Like a hole in the wall, letting out everything William ever thought and felt, and all within a single second.

He fell down to the ground, blacked out for a minute or two.

When he came back, first thing he was able to hear was her weeping.

“Oh please, come back. Are you alright? I am sorry.” she repeated saying this between cries and sobs.

Springtrap still felt weak and fragile, barely able to keep his head up.

“Yeah... yeah I... ugh... I feel like my brain vomited.”

“I am so sorry! Forgive me. I don't know what went trough my head!”

“It's fine. I just... urgh... what the fuck did you do?”

“Siphoning your memories.”  
“Ah. What?”

“Ghost are like a fading picture of the person they were in life. All memories, everything they ever thought, concentrated on a single... point. When you tough it, you are able to see all. I... I am sorry. Sorry for what you went through. I am sorry for being so selfish thinking that only I had to suffer.”

“It's cool, Mrs. Silverman. I got help. Finally. Maybe that's why I want to help you, too.”  
“That is nice of you. But I don't know how.”

Springtrap was able to stand up again. He still felt wuzzy, but slowly came back.

“Well, first of all, we need to find your corpse, and give it a proper funeral. And your kids, too. And the people you killed here.”

“Why?”

“Just look around. Is this really your home?”

She did. Watched the broken down furniture, the moldy wallpapers, the smashed windowpanes.

“No. Not anymore. My home was warm and nice. This here is...”  
“A tomb. An old, forgotten hole were corpses were left to rot. This is not what you deserve. What your children deserve. And your home, too. This building stopped to be your home when you died. But.... maybe, someday, it could be the home of someone else. It could be warm and nice again. But for this to happen, you need to let go. Believe me, this is hard. I do wish to be alive again, to enjoy things like a warm summer rain, ice cream or freshly baked pizza. But that's over. For me. For us. I am stuck here forever. But you, on the other hand, are able to let it go. And we are here to help you on this way. Please, show me where your corpse is hidden. I'll make sure that it is buried, and that you are remembered.”

She remained silent. For more than three minutes. Then, slowly, she hovered away. Springtrap followed her, upstairs, into a room that used to be a bedchamber. The ghost of Jennifer Silverman phased through a wall, which left Springtrap o figure out how to open it. Luckily, that didn't take long, since the boards were not really attached to each other. Behind them, the wall was hollow, and Springtrap was able to see a rather hastily made body of concrete, which filled the wall downstairs. The ghost was silently hovering above it, just staring down.

“It has been... years.” she finally said “All that time I wanted to protect what was mine. I forgot that this place belonged to someone else before. And is meant to belong to someone else again. Hopefully, it will be a home to someone. To another family. A place of happiness, like it used to be.”

She looked up to Springtrap, and smiled. It was warm as a ray of sunshine. And filled the whole room with a faint feeling of peace.

“I finally see my path. Thank you, William. Thank you kindly. I hope that, one day, you will find a way out, like you showed me mine. But until this happens, I dearly wish for you to find happiness. You deserve it. Good bye.”

The warmth grew more intense.

Turned into actual light.

A soothing gleam, that gently washed over Springtrap, the room, the house.

It just stayed a second or two.

And when the light faded away... the ghost of Jennifer Silverman was finally gone.

Springtrap stayed there for another couple of minutes, thinking. He was happy. Happy that he had been able to help.

But a way out for himself?

Right now, he didn't want to leave. Right now, he was fine. And, he had been able to bring peace to a lost soul. And this made him happy.

Maybe, after all that time, he finally managed to find IT?

It didn’t feel foreign. Or wrong. The happiness that Lucy... or the kids were able to give to him always felt wrong. Not part of himself. But now... this time... it was a part of himself. It belonged to him. It came out of him.

It was there.

And stayed.

 

 

He went downstairs, and through the hallway, left the house. Outside, people were busy. He had noticed that the corpse had been removed. Overall, he could sense that the police was calm. The nervous friction from before was completely gone. Sure, they were not happy to bag the corpses of their killed colleagues, but they seemed changed. Some would look at Springtrap, and smile.

Not really sure what to do, he went back to the mobile base, and found a couple of officers discussing. When they got aware of his presence, most of them came to him to pat his shoulders or shake his hands. First he was confused, but then he remembered... the camera. He removed it from his collar, and set it down on the nearest table, together with the other things he was equipped with.

“Well done, Mr. Afton.” said chief Penny, who, too, shook his hand “I admit that I was absolutely not convinced that you would be any help, but, fortunately, I was wrong.”

“She is gone. You can enter the house, but... I take it that you already did.”  
“Yes. We were not sure if... you know. So we went in while you kept... the ghost busy.”  
“Jennifer. Her name was Jennifer Silverman, she came here from Oxford, and build this house in 76, together with her husband Conrad. They had five children. She died falling down the stairs after a fight with her kids. They hide her in a wall. She killed them all, wanting to protect he last memory of happiness she had left. We need to remember her.”

First, Penny was going to say something, but then, she nodded.

“I understand.”  
“Did you even hear anything at all?”  
“We heard you, and some static.”

“Static?”  
“Yes. We thought first that this was a glitch, but... it turned out that this static always appeared when you were not talking. So, we got the idea that you indeed had a conversation with the... with Mrs. Silverman. I am far from understanding what was going on here or how this will affect my personal view of the world... or reality. But you did manage to give that soul peace. We... we felt it. It was...”  
“Sunlight?”  
“Yes. Yes, that. A warm and nice day in spring. I... never felt something like this.” she was silent for one moment, then looked up again “Can you maybe explain this all to me? I am a rational woman. If... ghosts... and everything with afterlife is true, then why did I never read or hear anything trustworthy about this?”

“That's just how the other side works.” answered Springtrap, not sure where he got this knowledge “It reacts to the thoughts and feelings of people. It shapes to match the expectation of every single human. All is true within the Fading Rooms. But here, in the living world, what is true and right for one seems to be nonsense for the other. You have heard things. And read them. But they were not matching what you, deep down, think to be right. So you doubt. You forget. You claim it to by esoteric and mysticism.”  
“But I am wiling to believe you.”  
“Because I am not alive, but also not dead. I am part of this world, but also of the Fading Rooms. I guess you feel that. Somehow. If you were able to hear a ghost, you would accept and believe what they have to say. Just think about it. In all of history, people put trust into what the dead had so say, while constantly doubting the minds of their fellow living.”

“I understand. Not sure how this will affect me, but I understand. You did something very good today. I just wish we had contacted you earlier, but to be honest, ghosts are not really what we were expecting.”

“I am happy that I could help her. And you. You probably want me to write down what she said to me, right? 'Cause it covers the dead of her kids.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**10.02.2020 – Now they know** (Project Specter: 10)

 

 

People raised, the court and jury gathered once again. For the first time, there was audience. Actually, the whole room was full to the brim. Which made Springtrap feel nervous like never before. But he had to go trough. So far, he had been praised for being cooperative. He didn't want to ruin his reputation.

But the judges won't sit down this time. So it would not be a hearing at all. The main judge looked around, and then nodded.

“Good day everyone. This will be the final sitting in the case 'The State of Massachusetts against William Dante Afton'. I will now announce the verdict. Mister William Dante Afton, born May the sixth, 1966 in Lincoln, United Kingdom, deceased January the 22nd, 1988 in Boston, Massachusetts, was found in October last year in a state that can not be classified as life nor as death. We decide hereby to declare him a natural person. He is therefore to be treated a subject of the United States of America, and therefor a subject of the Global Council for Cooperation and Peace. As for his personal status, it is to be called 'other', but in general treated the same way as a 'living' person. Since this decision makes Mr. Afton subjugated to federal, national, and international law, and the actual crimes were committed while being alive, Mr. William Dante Afton has been found guilty in sixteen cases of abduction, furthermore has he been found guilty aiding and abetting child murder in sixteen cases by violating his obligation to report any evidence of crime immediately as well as realizing contact between the victims and the actual murderer, Mrs. Lucy Horace. Mr. William Afton confessed his deeds the very same day he was found and was cooperating afterward. We found him to be abetted by Mrs. Lucy Horace, who exposed him to at least seven years of mental cruelty and abuse, rape in several cases, and psychological conditioning. All of this ultimately resulted in his own death. In regard of this, we sentence Mr. William Afton to seventeen years and five months prison term. Court and jury agreed in unison, that this sentence has already been served, given the fact that Mr. William Afton spend thirty two years in a locked room, without any form of human contact. In addition to prison term, court orders Mr. William Afton to go trough a psychiatric therapy, and to realize this, he is to be housed, but not imprisoned, in a federal facility for as long as the responsible doctor sees fit. This decision brings the case 'The State of Massachusetts against William Dante Afton' to a close. Any ordered disclosure of information is hereby revoked.”

Finally he looked up again, at the gathered audience. People remained silent. Scratching pens and clacking notebook keys where the only thing to be heard. This sure was a sensation. The very first not-dead citizen of the United States of America. And the story behind him could fill headlines for days.

The judge put his gaze on Springtrap, and seemed almost pleased.

“Mr. Afton, do you accept this sentence?”

“Yes, I do.” said Springtrap.

“Do you have any questions?”

A moment, Springtrap thought about this. Actually, quite some, but nothing he would like to ask in court – not with that many people closely watching him and every single of his movements.

“I do not.”

“Very well. Then, this case is closed, court is dissolved. Thank you.”

Never had he been happier for police and guards. They literally had to cut a way through the crowd. Dozens of journalists, hungry for an interview. Cameras flashed. Luckily, a spokeswomen of the court made her appearance, declared that she would answer questions. At least that dissolved the flock enough for Springtrap to reach the prison car and hop into it.

 

 

“What a bunch of morons! Removing the media blockage?! Now everyone and their mom is going to run their mouth about me!”

“That's one easy way to reach some fame.”

Springtrap gave his brother a bothered look.

“Fame. Exactly what I want and need. FAME. I'd better remember to _smile_ all the time. Don't wanna be mistakenfor a murderer, right?!”

“Jeez, William, that was just a joke.”

“I'm not really in joke-mood right now.”

Dr. Piers tried to moderate.

“Please calm down Mr. Afton. You are still here with us, and the prison's spokesperson will take care of whatever questions the public may have.”

“And then what? How will people react? I'm un-dead. I break probably all rules of every religion on Earth. Fuck, what if they want me to talk to their long dead granny? I'm not a frigging circus attraction!”

“Please calm down.”

“That's easy for you to say.” and Springtrap dropped on one of the many chairs in the counseling room. He buried his face in his palms, stayed quite.

“As far as I understood, people will doubt this as long as it comes not directly from you.” said the doctor.

“Only the undead part and whatever I have to tell about the Fading Rooms.” responded Springtrap, without looking up “But people think I'm a robot possessed by a ghost. That's something they can understand. Since it's a lie.”

“A lie that probably will be enough to keep them away.” suggested Vincent “See, the media has this bad habit of not really sticking to the source, so they will flock to everything that had to do with old Fazbear Entertainment, quickly forgetting about you.”

“You think?”

“That is what usually happens.” agreed the doctor “And those journalists with an honorable work ethic will accept what court's and our spokespersons have to say to them. The yellow press will surely find something else to write about soon enough. I suggest that we keep a low profile for a week or two and things will dissolve all by themselves.”

 

 

“In conclusion: It was a matter of time that we got to see something that breaks our understanding of nature and reality. The universe is too big for us to understand. That is even more true for all these things that lie beyond it.”

“And that was Professor Cadestian, from the Utah State University.” announced the reporter “What this sudden revelation will mean for us is still ominous. But it seems to be an interesting time to be alive. Or maybe we should start to say: To be around. And with that, we go back to studio, to have a look at some facts about Freddy Fazbear Entertainment, I m sure that this will int-”

The old television went off. It did that from time to time, whenever the temperature around dropped too low. And indeed, it was freezing. The moisture had formed a thin layer of ice at the walls and ceilings.

“How unfortunate.” said the Marionette, looking at his growing court of ghosts and possessed animatronics “It seems we need to speed up, before the breathing vermin tries to get their hands on the treasures here. MY treasures.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**18.02.2020 – A phone call to the Moon** (Project Specter: 11)

 

 

“Okay, to sum it up: You want me to spend time with your family?”

“Indeed.” answered Vincent “I want you to meet them. They want to meet you.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Because it took me so long to ask you? Maybe.”

“That's not wha- you want _me_ to-”

“Since I don't have any other brother, yes, I precisely want _you_ to be my guest for Easter. It's just a bunch of adults, the kiddies will be sleeping already. I don't ask you to go into full uncle mode, just sit there and talk, for maybe an hour or two, like you do here with the therapists and me.”

“But I-”  
“You have been here for almost four months and didn't harm anyone.”  
“But the-”

“Court just lifted the disclosure, so we are free to talk, as long as we don't touch the specter thing.”

“But wha-”

“And if anything should happen, one of my sons is a police officer who can bench two hundred fifty pounds.”

Springtrap opened his mouth to respond something, but he couldn’t come up with anything new. Which made Vincent grin.

“Wow. You planned this well.”

“We all did, to be honest. To get you into motion. I figured you would be more willing to do me a favor than yourself.”

“Figured right.”

“So, you agree?”

Springtrap shrug.

“It's not that I don't _want_ to be around people. There is just this part of me that screams into my ear that this will end in bloodshed.”  
“Well, tell that part to kindly shut the fuck up. Oh, don't give me that look, I know these words as well.”  
“Who are you, and what did you do to my innocent, well-behaving brother?”

Out of the sudden, Sandra entered the cell.

She looked somewhat excited.

“Hey Springy, sorry for just- oh, hello Vincent.”

“Good day to you.”

“Hi.” said Springtrap, glancing at the wall clock “Erm. Do we have a session today?”

Sandra shook her head.

“Nope. But I am here to tell you something. Important. Maybe even creepy. You should sit down.”

Springtrap looked a little bit confused, pointing on his chair.

“I AM sitting already.”

“Mentally, I mean. Just sit down mentally.”

“Whoa what are you going to tell me? Vincent is right here and well so that can't be it.”

“Are you sitting?”  
“Yeah. Yeah?”

“Okay.” she stare at him, dead serious “You have a daughter.”

The three of them remained silent for some moments, with Springtrap being the first one to talk again.

“What?!” was all he could say.

Sandra pulled a chair and sat down next to Vincent, who sported a surprised expression as well.

“Full story: Police is a huge gossip club. And after court has lifted the closure, it spreads like a wildfire. People got to know about your entanglement with... you know. HER. And some guy did some research. Turned out Lucy had four kids before you got to know her. Wait, not kids, they were stillborn, due to her body not being able to keep them. Maybe she thought that she was never going to have a healthy kid or somewhat, and therefor never used protection. I don't know. But on July the third in 88, she gave birth to a girl. Samantha Horace. You are filed as her father. And, guess what. Girl had blonde hair and lavender eyes.”

“My rotten ass may be spanked and damned for all eternity.”

“Yes, I was shocked to hear this, too.”

Springtrap started to freak out by jumping out of his chair.

“Fucking shit is she alright? Is she alive? What did Lucy do to her?! Fuck my ass what the hell did she do?!”

“She's well, don't worry.”

“I KNOW what that daemon spider snake of a bitch did with kids don't tell me to not worry!”

“She is well. Your daughter is well and healthy. At least that's what we know. And I am not telling you more when you shout at me, so please calm down.”

Springtrap's fists where clenched, as was his jaw, and it took him quite some time to cool down. Finally, after two minutes, he closed his eyes, rubbed his bunny ears and sat down again.

Sandra smiled, and gently pressed Springtrap's hand.

“Thank you. Now. Police doesn't have much information about her. They were able to get something out of her school reports and stuff. She was a good pupil, had great marks, was popular, and never seemed out of line. She was healthy all the time, and Lucy was present to all major events and talks with teachers. It may sound strange, and personally I am not able to believe it, but it seems that she was a great mother.”

“I am not really able to take your jokes right now.”

“When Lucy finally was brought to court in 2008, Samantha was heard, too. And claimed that she had been completely unaware. I did not read much, but she described her everyday live with her mother. Lucy had some guys coming and going, sure, but overall she was not suspicious at all. Nobody knows how she managed to hide her murders, but hey, it took thirty years to finally get her.”

“Yeah. She was a professional after all. That much I know.”

“They talked at least three times after Lucy's confession, but protocols don't go into detail about what. Except that Lucy told your daughter about you. In fact, these protocols were what brought some guy to your connection. I mean, people knew that Lucy had a child, and that some William Afton was the father, but hey, you'd been dead for twenty years back then, so nobody really gave it a second thought. Lucy explained who you were and how she... yes, she said it clearly: used you as a tool to get what she wanted. She also claimed that you had to be the father, because at that time, there hadn't been anyone else. Nobody knows why Lucy would spare her own daughter, but she did. After her mother was executed, Samantha sold everything and went to Europe. We don't know what she did there, but, six years ago, police had to send some papers over. You know, criminal reports - the lack of them at least – because Samantha applied for a job in New Aquitaine. The European colony on the Moon. She got green light, and probably is still living up there.”

Again, they were quite. Springtrap, still rubbing his ears, stare absentmindedly at the table, while Vincent gently patted his back.

Sandra waited some minutes, before going on.

“I still have more to say.”

“Oh cool, are my parents back to live?” asked Springtrap saucily.

“No. At least not that anyone would know. Police told me that they are going to inform your daughter.”

“Yeah good idea, don't spare any nasty details. Specially the whole ghost specter creepy Frankenstein stuff.”  
“It's law. You had been reported missing, and you had been found. Your close family has to be informed about your whereabouts. They will also prepare her for getting involved in the whole specter matter, yes.”

"Didn't court order a closure about that?" asked Vincent.

“Indeed, but since she is family, you will talk about that anyway. And they have to tell her about your actual situation, which is 'other' or 'not-dead', something that needs to be explained. Welcome to law. These are two different cases. The reappearing of William Afton, missing since '88, has nothing to do with the whole Springtrap and Fazbear stuff. They will give Samantha a call this evening, when Luna is up.”

“You tell me that someone is going to call my daughter, who lives on the goddamn moon?!”

“Springy, it's 2020. New Aquitaine has been established since almost forty years. It's not a primitive shelter any more, but a couple of cities. A radio signal needs around four seconds to get up and down again. Okay, when Luna is not up, you need a satellite as transponder, but else it's fine.”

“Whoa.”

“Oh come one Springy, there are people older than me who were born on Luna, and never set a single foot on Earth.”

Springtrap continued to stare at her. Then he closed the eyes, and smirked.

“Hoh boy, I am one old hare, ain't I?”

“I feel you, brother.” said Vincent, smiling as well “My youngest son is up there as well. Hard to believe that you can have a phone talk with an other planet.”

 

 

“Achtung, wichtige Durchsage. Frau Samantha Horace, geboren am dritten Juli 1988 in Boston, USA: bitte melden Sie sich umgehend bei der nächsten Telekommunikationsstelle."

"Lyssna, en viktig annonsering. Samantha Horace, född den tredje Juli 1988 i Boston, USA: Sätt dig genast i förbindelse med den närmaste telekommunikationsmyndigheten."

"Attention, an important announcement. Miss Samantha Horace, born July the third 1988 in Boston, USA: please contact your next telecommunication office immediately.”

Samantha looked up as soon as she heard her name.

“Isses nicht ein bisschen spät für nen Anruf?” asked Kanani, who was sitting next to her on the couch “Fast elf Uhr. Wer ruft denn so spät noch an?”

“Jemand von der Erde, vermutlich. Die lernen's nie. Vielleicht aus den Staaten?”

“Und wer sollte das sein?”

“Ich hab keine Ahnung. Werd ich sehen.”

She kissed her husband on the cheek, and got up to get dressed. Not that she would need that much. Just a pair of shoes, and out she went.

It was not the first time for her being called in at unusual hours. Samantha was working at the logistic department, managing the ins and outs of goods and people, which lead to her having business contacts all over the world. And earthlings tend to forget that the Moon's standardized time was Greenwich. She didn't really mind though. A short walk in the evening was actually quite a nice thing to do just before bedtime. Not many people were on the streets. The artificial light was already dimmed, and the huge dome of the arcology was build to filtrate most of the sun's light out. Because of this, the illusion of a quite summer evening was almost perfect. Just a brief walk of five minutes later she arrived at the local com office. A black lady was on shift, smiled as Samantha entered.

“Guten Abend.”

“Ebenso. Ich wurde grad ausgerufen.”

“Bitte einmal das Händchen hier auf den Scanner... Okay, danke, Frau Horace. Auf Sie wartet ein Anruf von der Erde, aus Boston. Dritte Kammer links.”

Samantha nodded, and went were she was told to. A rather common procedure. Sure, she was happy that communication between good old Earth and Luna was rather easy, but the time zones...

She sat down in the small room, and picked up the phone.

“Samantha Horace, Luna Initiative, Sector Logistics and Transport?”

The signal took a moment to go all the way down to Earth, and back up again. Thanks to radio towers that dotted the surface, it was strong enough to go through all of the atmosphere, twice, without noticeable interferences.

On the other end of the line was a woman, she sounded a little bit nervous.

“Um, hello? Mrs. Horace? Sorry, it's my first time calling the moon. Um... This is the Federal Police Department in Boston, Massachusetts. We... erm, your telecom guy up there already made sure that you are the Samantha Horace we search. But still, I need to ask for identification. Urm.. could you please name the date, and place of your birth?”

Police? That was new. And Boston, too... For a moment, Samantha was a little nervous. It had been twelve years since her mother's trial, and after that she had left everything behind. What on moon could her place of birth want from her?

“I was born on the third of July in ninety eighty-eight. St. Theodore hospital in Boston. My mother's name was Lucy Horace. Yeah, the 'Wicked Witch of the East' as media has called her.”

“Erm, okay. Yes. Thanks. Last question: Please name the last school you attended to.”

“Oh that was Lindner's Highschool. Or did you mean university? That would be the Rostock Greentech Institut, in Germany.”  
“No, no, it's okay. I... I just need to follow the protocol, you see. Erm.. okay. So. The reason we call you is... Okay. Let's start this the other way around. Your mother's name was Lucy Horace. And your biological father's name is William Dante Afton.”

“Indeed. I never got to know him, he was reported missing before I was even born.”  
“Yes. Missed since February 88. Well, that's why we call. We found him.”

After a brief second of shock, Samantha felt her heart starting to beat faster.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes. Sorry, but yes. We found him four months ago, and we just learned that he, in fact, has a daughter, that's why we call you now.”

Father?

Samantha never had had one. Her mother used to have a rather high demand when it came to men, they came and left quite frequently. But none of them had been a father to her. In fact, there had never been need or room for a second parent. Lucy had always made sure that her daughter was perfectly cared for. Samantha grew up knowing her father was missing. And knowing that all the people who went missing while working for Fazbear Entertainment never returned. At least not in one piece.

“Is... i-is he alive? How is he?”

“He is 'not dead'.” was the answer, and it sounded as insecure as Samantha felt right now.

“What do you mean, not dead?”  
“I am sorry, ma'am, but I am not allowed to tell you more. Per law we need to inform close family members in the case their missed relatives were found, and that I just did. For everything else, I am allowed to offer you a couple of phone numbers, which you may call to get more information. One of these is Vincent Afton, the older brother of you father. The other one is Dr. Piers, the psychiatrist who is treating your father at the moment.”  
“I have an uncle? Oh gosh... sorry... I am... a little overwhelmed right now. I don't have anything to write on here, how...”  
“I will send you an e-mail. I have to do this anyway, because you have to sign a federal, high security non-disclosure agreement, and mail it back to us. Do you have a secure mail account?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. It's samantha.horace@LunaInitiative.ef.”

“Ah okay, LI is secure enough. I'll send you your data right now. Please read through all the papers and sign them. After we got them back, you may call the numbers attached. Is there anything else you want to ask me?”

“No. I... need a moment to get back to thinking again. Thank you for... for calling me.”  
“It's my duty, ma'am. Have a nice evening.”  
“You too.”

And the conversation was over. Samantha stayed seated, staring at the phone in her left hand. What was she supposed to do now? It had been easy to leave the US – and Earth itself – behind, because she had no family. But out of nowhere, she had a father now. And an uncle, too. She was too confused to really think about the “not dead” part, or why she would have to sign such a high ranked agreement. After leaving the office, she went straight back home, took her shoes of, and sat down next to Kanani, who was still watching TV. It didn't take him more than two seconds to get that something was off.

“Alles okay? Wer war das?”

“I have a father.” was the answer.

Her husband looked at her for a moment, then he seemed to understand.

“Scheiße, echt?! Sie haben ihn gefunden?!”

“Yes. That was Boston. Police. They found him. And I have an uncle, too.”

“Is there a reason you stick with English?”  
“Sorry. I'm shaken. I have family. Down there. On Earth.”

He gave her a hug, gently brushing her blonde hair.

“It's okay honey. You have all right to be shocked. You want me to make a tea?”

She nodded. Than she shook her head. Because she could feel that some tears were on their way.

 

 

He tried to break his fall with his arms, but since he was handcuffed, the man landed flat on the rough floor. He snarled some curses, while doing his best to get up again.

“You promised me to let me go after I blasted that vault open!” he shouted over his shoulder.

The bunny robot didn't seem to be impressed by his anger. Looked as horrible as ever. Gigantic buckteeth, golf balls for eyes. One arm was missing, loose cables and rusted metal, and overall it was in bad condition. What remained of the once yellow fur was soiled by old blood and mold. That huge hole in the head of the machine allowed a glimpse on what appeared to be a rotting human skull, with horrible stinky brain matter clearly visible.

“Sure, I did say this.” sounded the incorporeal voice from behind the zombie robot “Too bad that people just got some interest in this old robot franchise. We don't want you to blather, don't we?”  
“C'mon! I have two kids who need me! I swear not saying anythin', just lemme go!” shouted the man back, his desperation growing by the second.

The voice laughed. It sounded like a creaking coffin.

“Yeah sure. I used to be a human, too. Would do everything for a quick coin. Heck, that attitude brought me into this situation. As it did bring you here. Thanks to or fellow undead bunny finally being available to the press, people would pay some nice cash for some story. And you have quite one to tell.”  
“Please...”

“Shut up. I'll let you go when things cool down. Until then, I need you to salvage everything in here, before some more professional guys find their way into this treasure hoard. And now, you better be a good little meatbag and sleep, or you won't get anything to eat tomorrow.”

The half-broken machine sluggishly turned around, and shut the bathroom door behind it. With a low squeak, that huge metal locker was moved to block the door.

It took another minute or two for the dreadful spectral presence to fade away. Slowly, some warmth returned. It was always freezing cold when that Marionette guy was near. At least, that way the prisoner could tell when it was save to curse as much as he wanted.

The man snorted, mumbling some swear words, while he crawled over to what had been his sleeping place for the last three weeks or so. While nothing compared to using one of the toilets, getting comfortable on a filthy mattress with both hands and ankles tightly cuffed was not easy. But luckily, his days were filled to the brim with heavy manual labor, so sleep would get him regardless where he was lying.

But not this night.

For the last weeks, he had worked as hard as he could, running on what little food they gave him, to get this ancient vault door open. The promise to be free again had been what kept him going. Now, this was gone. As angry as he was, as afraid he was, there was some numbness slowly growing within his core. Sure, he knew what they did to those who won't comply. Their remains littered the place. The stench of death and decay was intense. Last one was the original guard of this facility. They skinned him alive. To fashion a crude sort of suit out of it. It would allow one of the robots to walk around in public for some days, before the stench would get too strong.

And he surely didn't want to end up as some crazy machine's costume. He mustn't die. Had to survive, for his kids. The though that he already had been away for weeks lingered around, ready to wreck him whenever he was too weak. Like now. He was their only parent. Their mother left them, so she probably would not care when the two of them appeared on her doorstep, claiming that daddy hadn't come back from work. Despair brought out the darkest sides of the human mind.

Tears ran down his hollow cheeks. He swept them away as good as he could using his shoulders. But it wouldn't stop. So he let them run.

It was hopeless.

While Europe and Hawaii and the First Nations and even the damned Moon were getting closer to Utopia with each passing year, the USA, and what remained of Red Russia and China, were more like Dystopia. Weak politics. Corruption. They lived on what the Global Council would give to them. The middle class had been able to recover from national bankruptcy. Surely, they still were not as well as they had been before the war, but they didn't struggle any more. The gap between the poor and those who managed to get along was so huge that it sometimes seemed like two completely different societies would populate this land, living side by side, without touching each other. Either you made the jump, or you were doomed to stumble from day to day, worrying about your next meal. Like million others.

A guy like him, without higher education, but two kids to feed, was ready to take whatever job he could get his hands on. Sure, being a night guard in a place that was said to be cursed, where people went 'missing' on a regular basis, was probably not the brightest idea. But what to do? Economy had completely shifted. Those who hadn't some fancy degree in robotics, ecological sciences, or spacecraft engineering, were practically useless. Most manual labor was done by robots, supervised by augmented humans. The world had no use for people who only knew how work with their bare hands.

His desperation had brought him all the way in here. After his first night in Fazbear's Fright horror show, being attacked by nothing less but ghostly phantoms, he should have quit. But no. He went there again the next night. Enduring the games of the ghosts. Three nights he managed to survive, before... THAT thing finally got him. That rotten bunny. Who in the right mind would pay money to SEE a revolting corpse in an animatronic bunny suit?! Word had that they had found another one, in better shape, before the show was open. But that one got taken away by the cops, which made the owner really furious. From some other hellhole, he got this replacement. The ghosts liked it.

Much.

Their cold aura aside, he was not able to sense or hear them. Not yet. He probably would develop that skill sooner or later, as the Marionette learned how to force his voice upon the living. How many there actually were he could not say. Mostly, it was people who died in the old pizzeria. Employees. Night guards. But the head of this gang was that Marionette guy. He was something... else. He had power over the other ghosts. Claimed that he had been murdered in 1988, as a teenager, by that crazy bitch the public had named 'The Wicked Witch of the East'. It should be hard to believe that a mere teenager could have been this cruel. But he had told what happened. Every bit. How she raped him, while peeling his skin of. How she chopped parts of his legs of, and ultimately, his genitals. And how he woke up, being stuck in one of those robots. How painful it was to move. How long it took him to actually do something. Manipulating objects. For some reason he was able to command the other ghosts. He let them haunt the place. Someday, so said Marionette, they found the original bunny zombie looked up in a hidden room. And that happen to be the guy who snatched him away to be raped and killed by his boss, the Witch. The ghosts got their revenge. But it became boring. Since they more or less found out that this kidnapper, too, was just another victim of her wicked ways. So, Marionette decided to move on, to use his newfound power, and turn the lives of everyone who had the bad luck making contact with that old and run down pizzeria into a nightmare.

By now, he was skillful enough that he didn't need his robot body any longer. He could wield three knifes, and a gun, at the same time. And seemed to be quite happy about his undead existence, about the eldritch powers it granted him. But at the beginning, it had been agony. And he made sure to let every living person he could get his hands on suffer the same way.

The former night guard – his name was Lance – had been one of the less favorite play things. He didn't cry enough. At least not when someone was looking. But, and that probably saved him, he knew some things about mechanics being a trained welder and mechanic. How to improvise when spare parts were not available. They forced him to repair some of the robots. And then, just a month or so ago, the Marionette revealed his master plan. Somehow, he knew of this other place here in New York City. Some sort of circus entertainment show, entirely run by animatronics. The last try of the failing company to regain a foothold. Moving away from fast food, and focusing solely on their robots. Had been sealed since the final closure of Freddy Fazbear Entertainment. Lance had to steal a truck, and drive the whole bunch of possessed robots to NYC. They hide some nights in a workshop close to that circus show. Probably for repairing cars or something. Long since closed, because it was as uninteresting to investors as laborers were. But since Lance managed to break into the location, they stayed there, and got a good bunch of stuff running. For some reason, it had to be robotics made by Fazaka. Everything else could not be possessed by the ghosts. Or so he had been told. Some days after the break in, they found the vault. The Marionette phased into it, being a ghost and all, and went into maniacal laughter that almost turned Lance's blood into solid ice. Since then, the main task was getting the vault open. With the false promise of being released as a bait.

He would die in here.

That much he knew.

He could only hope that the mother of his kids had taken care of them. That someone had taken them in. That they were somewhere, that they would make it in this world that long had lost its interest in the human life.

Crying silently, he tried to sleep.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**19.02.2020 – A phone call to the Sun** (Project Specter: 12)

 

 

It was a nice afternoon. The gathered Afton Family was sitting around the huge table, enjoying tea and smalltalk together.

Vincent and his wife, Olivia, had had five kids on their own, and had adopted two more. Of course, their offspring was by now old enough to be parents themselves, and in fact, the first grandchildren were already in school. From these seven, four remained in Boston, or at least in the surrounding area, with the others all over the world. Clara, the oldest one, settled down in France, Mark was a doctor working in south Africa, and John, the youngest son, was an astrophysicist working for the Luna Initiative. Lucas had a veterinary clinic on the country side, just an hour away from the city, his twin Oliver was a police officer living in the suburb, with Lilly, adopted as a newborn after her mother had left her, working in a kindergarten just next door. At last, little Shu was still studying, to become a robotics engineer.

The Afton home was large, and warm. On days like these, when the extended family gathered, it was almost like the old days. Kids playing in the house, their laughing filled the halls and rooms, together with the smell of freshly baked cookies. Vincent had tried to be a good father. He went to therapy himself, and parenting seminars in the evening, straight after work. He knew what a malformed family looked like. And felt. His uttermost wish was, to put an end to this, with help from his loving wife.

They succeeded.

Sure, a family this large had some fights going on now and then, but overall, they were close to each other. Able to share their feelings, to communicate when something was wrong.

They knew about William. As much as Vincent was allowed to say. Some day, he would sit right here, next to his family. But at the moment, that still was too much to even suggest. He was so afraid. Always made sure to be in sight of a security camera, or a guard. On a daily base, he informed everyone around him about his problem with water, and that they should soak him as soon as he would act strange. He was still not happy to be not dead. And a part of him was still adamant about being a murderer. Being the reason for 16 kids to be dead. The one way or the other.

Vincent looked up again, putting his thoughts aside. His family was used to this by now. They understood. He had lost his brother, the last part of his former family, thirty years ago. But now, this same brother was back. Maybe he was in prison, in therapy, maybe he had his connection to a serial killer, and maybe he even aided one. But still, it was a brother.

Nobody complained about Vincent being away for hours, sometimes a couple of days in a row. He made sure to be there for his family, to do his part of chores, to watch over the grand-kids after school. But as soon as he had some spare time, he would spend it in prison.

The phone rang, Lucas, already in kitchen, answered it. And then he brought the phone to his father.

“Yes hello? This is Vincent Afton?”

It took a moment for the other end of the line to react. It was a women, a rather nervous one.

“Erm... hello. Hello. This... My name is Samantha Horace. I'm calling from Luna, so there may be some latency issues.”

Vincent started to smile. It had been a wonderful day so far, but it just got a chance to get even better.

“Well, good day to you.” he answered “Am I the first one you called?”

“Erm, yes. You... were you expecting this?”

“Oh, not expecting, no. I _was_ hoping to get to hear from you, and that you really did call is wonderful.”

“Yes.. erm... excuse me, I am still somewhat surprised about these... sudden developments.”

“Believe me, I was, too. And would lie if I said to be over it, so you are not alone at all.”

“Okay... well... do you have some minutes to... to talk? There are a couple of things I would like to... to know.”

“Well, but of course. Let me just... move into an other room first.” and Vincent stood up, waved at his family, and went upstairs, into his little office.

As tidy and well organized the rest of the house was, this room was a mess. Old folders sat on top of each other, photo albums, decade old newspapers, the posters Vincent had used to put on walls and lantern posts for more than four years after his brother went missing. Altogether, these were the last connections Vincent had had for three decades. But, among all this old stuff, this collection had three new objects. A printed version of William's therapy diary, a photo that showed him smiling, and a picture he drew some other day. The little origami bunny William had made for him as a Christmas gift had it honored place on the mantelpiece. Compared to yellowed papers and faded photographs, these were bright and new. Like tiny fragments of hope.

Vincent sat down at his desk, opened a notebook, and turned some pages.

“So... Now, I am well and ready to answer all your questions.” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Afton.”

“Oh please, call me Vincent. I am your uncle, after all.”

“... okay. Sorry, this... is new to me.”

“Yes, and do take your time to get through this. Some parts of it may be rather hard to believe. A rushed approach won't help.”

“I try my best... so... Erm... I have a father now. This... how is he? I mean, I was informed that he is 'not dead', and this is... not really helpful to know.”

“Ah yes... this is probably the most interesting and confusing part. I am not really allowed to tell you much. In fact, I am not really allowed to _know_ much. But let's put it this way: He is well, but his body is dead.”

Samantha remained silent for a short time. Vincent didn't want to rush this, but then again, it was no use to put up something that wasn't true. She had to face this sooner or later.

“Okay. I guess I understand the 'not dead' part now. But... how... _where_ is he?”

“Right now, he resides in an ancient animatronic suit. Actually, this is the very same that killed him in January 88.”  
“How is this possible?”  
“That I am not allowed to tell you.”  
“Oh great.”

“Yes. I am sorry... and... oh well. Let's just pretend you already talked to Dr. Piers: It is some experimental technology, that is still part of international investigation, and a huge law suit. William had the bad luck to stumble into this.”

“I... I see. Okay. Maybe it's better to leave this alone now.”  
“Yes. I can tell you that he is him. Not an artificial copy or an AI programmed to act like he would. He is... still shattered by what happened. You.. you know about his connection to your mother?”  
“Yes. I do. She told me that she turned him into an instrument of sorts. That he was a broken, empty teenager when she first saw him. I... actually did not think much about this, because at that time, there were more things going on in my mind than the revelation that my long dead father helped her to get her hands on some children.”

“An instrument indeed. We were a failed family. Our parents were, in their specific ways, horrible. I was the oldest one at home, with our oldest sister remaining in England. That meant that I was more or less spared the more cruel things our father – and mother – did to us kids. William was... the youngest. He grew up here in the US, in an empty, cold, dark, and abusive place. I remembered how our family used to be before we left. He never got to learn anything else.”  
“The human mind always tries to gather what it lacks.”

“Indeed.”

“Is he... is he able to talk?”

“Yes, he is. The suit was meant to entertain children. In fact, they just put a new sound device in, that is able to emulate his original voice. Luckily, I had some short audio files here where he was talking. He can also hear, see, and feel being touched. But no smells.”

“Oh... oh gosh... I just... wait, I just realize... you said he was... k-killed in 88?”

“Indeed.”

“But he was 'found' just a couple of months ago?”  
“Yes.”  
“Where _was_ he in between?”

“Alone, in a bricked room, for thirty two years. Yes, he was awake and aware most of the time. And yes, his remains were still inside the suit. And littered around. You may call me too soft, but whatever he did in his life, I truly think that he endured enough to be forgiven.”

Again, there was silence. Vincent could feel the cold chill that grew in his core. He had felt this for years. Every single time he remembered. This used to turn into grief. But not now. Not any more. Like an inner voice, he reminded himself that, no, William is not gone. He may look a little bit different now, but he is here. And the cold grasp faded away.

Two minutes later, Samantha would talk again, her voice cracked.

“This... this room. Was it... in this haunted pizzeria?”

“Yes, it was. All locations had such a room, and they were all bricked after they found my brother... your father dead.”  
“I have been there.” she said, slowly, and quiet “A couple of times. Mother showed me... I... have been just some feet away from...” she stopped, sobbing.

“Me too. I searched him for five years. Plastered posters all over the place, pestered his coworkers and neighbors, I even put a line into the newspaper every month. And I was there, too, at his workplace, until it was finally shut down for good.”

“I am sorry.” answered Samantha “Didn't mean to open up old wounds.”

“Oh don't be. I had my share of therapy. To be honest, I never was able to let it go. It is one thing when you put someone to rest, but someone 'missing' surely grinds you to dust. Well. To be even more honest, the hope of finding him was all that kept me alive for quite a long time. And in the end... well. He is back. He may be a bunny robot now, but still... he is here.”

“A bunny robot.”

Vincent snickered.

“Hah, yes, it seems stupid, I know. Believe me, I am far from being done with sorting all this. But honestly, I still am too happy to have my little brother back to allow the side notes more room. Okay, you never knew him, so this may be a little bit more... alien to you. But... please forgive me for being so forwardly, you are family now. Feel free to visit whenever you like.”

“That is... well, nice. I... I never really had that much of a family. Only mother and me... well, but after her trial... Okay, I am married. But more or less for practical reasons.”

“Ah, your husband is welcome, too. Or wife. Or non-binary. We have plenty of space here. The house used to shelter seven kids.”  
“Oi, wow. That's quite a clan.”  
“You could say that, yes. I grew up in a defunct family, and maybe that was my personal way to cope this. Seven kids, six grand kids. And by now, a brother, and a niece. So whenever you would like to visit, feel free to do. Actually, my son John is on Luna, too.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, he lives in arcology twenty two. John Afton, house seventy eight. Feel free to drop by.”

“My, that's practically next door. Well, at our standards.”

“And, as per chance, he plans to visit us for Easter. Nothing special, we are not really into this, but it's a nice occasion to gather. So, maybe, if you would like to, you guys could travel together. Lower ticket prices, as I am informed.”

“I... thank you very much. For your kindness, too. I won't make any promises, since... since I am still a little bit baffled. But I will think about this.”

“Take your time. I would advise you to call the doctor, too. He is a good man, and is allowed to tell you more.”

“I was planing to do this, right now, actually. And then...after this, I probably have to do some thinking. I mean, there's a family now on good old Earth... crazy thing, for me.”  
“Nice and slow. Rushing this would do only harm. If you want to talk, feel free to call again. Or send me a mail. I might be an old man, half a century, but raising kids all the time keeps you close to the mainstream.”

 

 

“I have no idea what I am doin' here.” mumbled Lance while looking at the mess of cables and electronics in front of him.

“Just follow my orders.” snarled the ethereal Marionette back.

“Sure, 'cause ya a master technician. If so, just finish me off and do it ya'self, bro.”

“I may be able to move some objects, but delicate precision tools sadly still require a human. But keep that useless mouth running and I will change my mind.”

“Ya not _that_ stupid. Whatever this shit here is ya want it to work, and killin' me would delay that a great deal.”

“Looks like you're starting to use that brain of yours. I liked you more when you were constantly struggling not to piss yourself.”

“Can't blame me to pick up a thing or two from ya, rotten asshole. Now ya better go and play with the dollies. With my fingers almost freezin' I won't be able to fix that mess here.”

With the dreadful cold fading away, Lance could finally let go some of the tension. While he was not exactly alone – whenever he was out of his cell, they chained him to the walking corpse bunny - he knew that this one was too dumb to talk, so he mumbled another squall of curses and swears, and once again looked at whatever insane things that ghost teen had written down there. It sure looked like he had copied a blueprint. Where he'd get it, he didn't tell. Maybe he had analyzed one of the robots? Being inside there would allow to take a closer look at the circuits, right? Probably the rotten bunny. He liked that zombie, already called it a 'mark two specter' long before they found the vault. And the huge manufacturing line it housed.

But that thing was broken. Sabotaged, for sure. Maybe the old enterprise had tried to destroy it when they had to close down. On top of that, it clearly stated in huge letters that it was a prototype. Only able to produce samples. Mark one. And Marionette wanted mark two. So, in order to get this running and upgraded, Lance had quite some work before him.

At least, that would keep him alive.

The blueprint was rather easy to understand, even for someone as dumb as him. Put this cable here, reconnect these two circuit boards there, plug back in the resistors... then came some writing. Squinting his eyes, he tried to make out what it said. No use. He barely was able to read the headline, something close to 'update', but only because this was written in capitals. The rest was just a collection of wavy lines.

“Damn... Knew I'd need some glasses. Too bad an urchin can't afford those.”

A moment he thought to call the Marionette back. But on the one hand, the chain between his left ankle and the bunny specter was barely long enough to allow him to reach all parts of this section of the machine – and the bunny only followed Marionette's unspoken orders. And on the other hand, if that devil wanted him to 'follow the orders', he'd better made sure that those orders were readable in the first place.

So, Lance just decided to ignore the writing, and go on with the blueprints. At least, these were understandable.

If something went wrong, they would just kill him. But he knew that this would happen anyway.

And his kids either had found help, or were dead by now.

Nothing to lose.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**03.03.2020 – Zaping fun** (Project Specter: 13)

 

 

Springtrap entered his cell, and just dropped on the nearest available chair. He rubbed his face, his bunny ears, his hands and knees, and went then into hugging himself.

This hearing had been an ordeal. Both sides made sure to squeeze every possible drop of information out of him. Actually, he felt like if they literally did. Empty. And still, the memories surrounded him like spiteful shades. He had to say everything. Describe Fazbear's work ethics. How they treated their employees, the technology they used, the intern drilling and conditioning. Remember to smile. Don't say a word. Pretend to know nothing but your daily work. Sure. All companies do this. But usually, those won't have a dead count in the thousands. So many people. So many kids. So many employees. They put everything together. Thanks to modern computers, that spend hours to scan all available data for returning schemes, the number of people who went 'missing' and had at least some possible connection to Freddy Fazbear Entertainment, jumped upwards. It seemed that every day new names were found. And Springtrap had been turned into the main source of information, with him being the very last former employee. All the others, even the one who told the guy from Fazbear's Fright about the save room just five months ago, were dead by now. Or reported missing, which was, actually, the same. Luckily, the move to brick the save rooms and erase them from any blueprint and record had been quite successful. So successful that, in fact, even Fazbear themselves lost any overview about what was stored there. Those secret service people did a great job snagging everything away, without any change that anyone would be able to make some evidence disappear. Right now, the Global Agency for Security and Exposure was the main plaintiff. So, basically the free world against Freddy Fazbear Entertainment. And that was probably the reason that things kept moving. Fazbear was long gone. People working for it were dead, or lost. Even the highest tier, managers, sponsors, all those guys who got money out of the whole thing, were not kept alive. There was nothing to win, nobody to sue, nobody to pay. But still, this law suit was on its roll, because the GCCP was enforcing it. Even Springtrap could see that there was more going on than just an enterprise trying to keep its nose clean.

This was huge.

And he was needed to bring some light into the dark.

Not sure if he was supposed to be happy about this or not, he decided that this just had to be done. He had his share in these deeds. How big or small they might have been, he was part of it.

 

He woke up again some hours later. Face on floor.

Instinctively he grabbed his neck, stretched, but he did not feel sour like he should after an exhaustion nap on the ground. It kind of reminded him of his time sleeping in his car. And the save room. Which both were not the nice type of memory.

Hoping that he would fall asleep again, he wandered over to his bed, lay down, and just thought how wonderful this piece of furniture was. Beds. Whoever invented them had been a genius. Even an undead haunted bunny robot could be in love with them.

Unfortunately, he could not sleep. Having no real need to do this, mental exhaustion was all that would put him down for some hours, but this was gone for now.

He refused to get up though. Grabbed the nearest thing, which turned out to be... that stupid specter folder.

Springtrap thought a moment about reading it. He already went trough some chapters. All together, this stuff was spooky. To say the least. It was definitely written by, and for, people who had some serious understanding of physics, robotics, and maybe even some para sciences. To him, most of this appeared to be gibberish. But Dr. Piers had a point. Not knowing this stuff could end in a couple of dangerous situations. But still, Springtrap felt like poking around in alien soil whenever he decided to read a page or two. So far, he was only able to fully understand one chapter. Probably because he knew a thing or two about electricity.

The specter, being a sapient lightning, had an intern charge. It was, more or less, a singularity. An orb lightning. The charge, the power itself was endless. Could put out and take in as much electrons as it wanted. But he could change the actual current and voltage. Lower or raise them at will. The material described this simply as winding up or down. Normally, without something to power, a specter would wind down enough to be almost not measurable. Only an other specter would be able to sense it. In order to run a machine, it needed to spend some time raising its intern charge and power levels. It then would be able to threw out as much electricity as needed. And, as a major plus, it could _control_ all this power that was connected to itself. As long as it was part of an actual circuit, the power flowing trough the material was like limbs. That was literally what Springtrap was doing. Not the suit was moving, at least not on its own, since the original brain was dead. But the power running through the circuits would be forced to do what he wanted, as long as it was not forcefully grounded or lead astray by a short circuit. This was such a fundamental thing that it would need no more thinking than a human breathing. But, that was not all. The specter was able to forcefully discharge electricity. It was not really able to control it once it left its 'body', but a couple of meters were doable, before common laws of physic would take over and ram the bolt straight into the ground.

The research notes claimed this to be a side effect, that was discovered by accident, and later turned into a form of last line defense mechanism. It was naturally bound to a specter, and would trigger almost automatically. And that was one of the things Springtrap needed to be aware of, since, given the fact that he possessed a full set of human emotions, it was quite possible that fear or anger would trigger this, like these would trigger defense reactions in any human.

But how could he _train_ this? Or at least, learn to prevent it from happening all on its own? Even the material said that specters needed some training to keep this under control – and useful. And Springtrap was nothing short of a 'broken' specter.

He got an idea, that at least was worth a try.

So he got up, and turned on the laptop he was allowed to use for writing and internet-ing. He had been in there, a couple of times, this thing was not equipped with something fancy. Which was a good thing, given the fact that this very place _was_ a prison. At least, they had given him limited access to the intern communication system of the facility. Actually, that was done straight after his first, involuntary, out-of-body experience.

He popped up the chat, and wrote a short massage to the system admin. Then, he looked at the clock. Three in the morning. Maybe not the best time to ask for supervised access to the shooting range. Springtrap send it anyway, so Mr. Admin could read it in the morning.

Not sure what to do now, he looked over the stuff in his cell. Well, a 'cell' it wasn't any more. Sure, it had a tiny window, high up and barred, but the rest had been replaced one by one. Since he had no need for a toilet or sink, these where dismantled. Instead there was a desk, the very one he was sitting at right now. It was littered with stuff for drawing. Colors, mostly, but also books. Not only those for toddlers, but actual learning material. Springtrap was not really good at drawing, but then again, he had never done this for fun before. He was now. Bringing some piece of your mind on a sheet of paper felt strange, but good. It was like setting a small pebble into motion, and watch where it was going. He had fun drawing. And everyone agreed that this was an important step. So they let him draw. Sandra gave him colors and books, Admin printed out references, and Vincent was great encouraging. And Dr. Piers probably was thankful for the spare time, since drawing and coloring reduced their necessary time together a rather large deal.

Before he could think of doing something, a light flickered to live on screen. A chat message from Admin. Sure thing, he said. He would come over right now he said.

A little confused, Springtrap stare at the screen, not sure if Admin had been sarcastic or not. That was hard to get when you got only words. The whole thing with emoticons was still something Springtrap could not understand. To him, :D was not different from D: - both very cryptic symbols. Maybe that was a good hint towards his true age. Vincent was 59. William would turn 54 in May. He did not feel that old. And at the same time, he felt like he had been around for centuries. Maybe it was normal for an undead to loose his personal feeling for time?

Someone knocked at the door. And just a second later, Admin entered. In his usual attire, with his usual, messy, black hair. Springtrap still did not know his name. Looking at him, he might be from the Kingdom of Mexica. Maybe even an Aztec? Perhaps his name was really hard to say, because everyone was calling him Admin all the time.

“So, dude.” he started “Had a nap on the ground and now you can't sleep, huh?”

“Why are you here?”

“You asked me, right?”  
“Yeah but... it's three in the morning. Did I... sorry, did I wake you up? Did you came here from home?”

“Nah I don't need to sleep.”

It did take a moment for Springtrap to process this piece of information.

“What?”

“Dude. I'm augmented. Like most people in positions like mine.”

“I may repeat myself, but, what?!”

Admin smirked a little, sat down next to Springtrap, and lifted a part of his black hair. Some tiny little metal parts and glowing dots were visible on his scalp.

“I have some neuro implants. Like I said, most administrators in important positions are augmented. Most time this means we are directly connected to the systems we watch over. In my case, these little wonders also take away the need to sleep. All that stuff that happens during sleep is done by the implants, so I can stay up all day and all night, every day.”  
Springtrap stare at him.

“Oh fuck I feel so sorry for you.”

But Admin just laughed.

“Hah, me too, I still have a credit running for these thingies.”  
“Isn't that... unhealthy? I mean...”  
“Nah. I can sleep. If I want to. Actually, I do. Just don't need to do it. And the implants keep being active while I'm sleeping, and wake me up should something require the actual me to decide. It just means that I am available. I have a small flat right next door to my office, so I am here clock round and able to jump into business as soon as I need to. No morning sleepiness or such. I mean, my office may be here in this special wing, but I run the whole prison. And I am one of the main servers for the police of the whole state. Sleeping is nice and all, but when something like a disaster happens, I need to be online and able to make the best possible decision, no matter what time it is.”

“Oh wow I feel even older now. How long do these things exist?”  
“Actually, not that long. The groundwork was done in the late 80s. People back then heavily relied on robots driven by Celebramite-based AIs, so there was no need for humans with technology in their head. Like... you would know, cause this is the time you grew up.”

“Yeah I remember. Robots taking away the jobs of lower class people. My... old man often complained about this.”

“Yep. Turned whole parts of economy upside down. Brought quite some problems, too. But then... hah... we had the AI Crisis starting in 91. Robots fought against each other. Nobody knows why, but probably different programming between different brands. Humans were unharmed, but worldwide AIs would turn against each other. Well. That was somehow doable, since when you strictly kept different manufacturers separated, you could reduce the fighting to a minimum. But hey... guess what. The people on the Moon were not really able to be picky about who works with whom. Things went ugly at the end of 92. People on Luna were busy with the holidays, a large part was even here on Earth, so not enough were able to supervise the robots. They started a fight. A huge one, thanks to the cramped conditions up there. Vital systems were damaged, one whole arcology broke down, whit its residents suffocating in a couple of minutes. A huge break to every single protocol of every single AI on the whole world. Conclusion: on New Years Eve 1993, all and every form of AI committed suicide.”

“Wow. So suddenly, no more robots?”

“Exactly. But many systems and industries were made to be worked by robots, by AIs, that had direct access to data and real-time reaction. So, people needed to fill the gap. And the age of augmented humans began. The actual process of implantation is still not exactly legal in the US and other places, but both Hawaii and the EF allow implants, as long as they are produced under their ridiculously high security standards. Took not even a whole year for people like me to fill important positions. The basic work could be done by dumb droids, but the thinking needs to be done by an actual intelligence.”

“Oh boy I have so much more reading to do. I spaced out thirty years, shit like that happened and now I am like an idiot running around in a world that is not mine.”

Admins smirk returned, broader than before.

“You wanna hear about the pan-Arabic war? The bomb that was accidentally set off by Luna's Eye? Greatest manmade detonation in history. We had earthquakes, tsunamis, even Earth's axis shifted a quarter degree. Brought us an impact winter in 2007. Like, three months of total darkness.”

“This I read. Sounds unbelievable. And spooky like shit.”

“Hah. Everyone still is grateful that those Ozone makers of Aloha Green Tech were actually able to clean up the atmosphere in a couple of months. Like, that's not really what they were supposed to do, but they did. And boy, did it great. Still took almost a year since things were back to normal. Was a great Christmas though. Snow everywhere.”

“That's one way to put it.”

“So dude. Want me to give a history lesson? Or wanna go to the shooting range?”

“Erm... yeah but not without guards.”

“Oh dude, c'mon. Everyone knows you are not dangerous. You really think I would be in here, alone, talking to you when I thought you could snap? Dude, we have people here that tried to dig through the walls using their teeth. People that were proud of their deeds, and would do it again if they could. You, dude, are just an abused guy who was in bad companionship.”  
“But... but I...”  
“Also, I could bring you down in two seconds. This is a security prison, after all. Staff here is freakishly good in self defense.”

“How would to put down a robot without water?” asked Springtrap innocently, not really seeing the line he should stop at.

Just three seconds later he was missing two arms. A little dazzled, he looked at his now empty shoulder joints, and then to his limbs Admin carried.

“You ruined my fur.” he said “I just got it replaced after Jennifer Silverman stabbed me twice.”

“I wanted to make a point.” answered Admin with a smirk. Then, suddenly, he got poked by two robot hands, which did scare him enough to let both the arms go.

“Dude what the fuck?!”

Now, it was Springtrap's turn to smirk.

“You need to take them away at least three meters. Else they need some minutes to be fully disconnected.”

“Noted.”

“Now put them back please. I DO want to go to the shooting range.”

 

 

A strange room. Long, without furniture, but dense layers of sound isolation on the walls. And a secure supervising chamber at the lower end. Admin turned on a couple of lights and cameras, as he was supposed to do, and then looked at Springtrap.

“So, here we are. What are you going to do now?”

“Man, I have no idea... Any tips?”  
“Just go into the actual range, I'll stay in here. As cool as you dude are, I don't wanna get zapped.”

Springtrap went into the large room. And felt not more confident as before. At the end of the range, a couple of targets were visible. These were holographs, so they could move, and be changed. But still, he did not know how to 'wind up' as it was necessary for him to actually be able to discharge electricity. He tried a couple of times 'shooting' at the targets, using his fingers forming a gun, but nothing happened.

“Gosh I feel dumb.”

“Hey dude.” said Admin trough speakers “Isn't this somehow bound to emotions? I mean, I only got to read a very skinny version of this whole shit...”

“Yeah. That's why I actually want to train this. Really don't want to hurt someone when I am scared or have another self-hate-tantrum.”

“Want me to put on a special target? We have quite some in here... Zombies are a favorite.”

And the holographs turned into classical walking corpses.

“Eww. I don't think that I could _vomit_ a lightning.”

“Tzz, critics... What about evil robots?”

Again, the motives changed. Again Springtrap was not amused.

“I take this as offense.”

“Heh. Then tell me what would scare you.”

“Empty and dark rooms with no door are quite a thing, actually.”

“Oh. Is that why you always have this little nightlight on?”  
“Yes.”  
“Understood.”  
“Hey, drop it. I doubt that this fear thing would do the job. Also, shooting at people is not really what I want.”

“Okay, I put on simple targets.”

And the holographs turned into round discs with numbers on them, like dartboards. Springtrap nodded, and then tried to figure out how to get wound up without the help of emotions. That was something the folder didn't went into detail about, so he guessed it was something natural or automated for a specter to do.

“Hey dude, for going into an other electronic device you just need to think about it, maybe this will do the trick in this case, too?”

That was worth a try. After all, he was rather good at traveling by now. So, Springtrap tried to see himself as a lightning. To forget about his body, the suit, and just _see_ the power in there. Electricity. That was not an easy task, since he was rather comfortable in the bunny costume. Instead of moving his arm, he tried to move the power. Which was not working.

He grew frustrated. Why would a machine be able to do this and not him?

A machine...?

Could it be that simple?

Springtrap decided to try. In his mind, he formed one simple command.

Wind up.

And, to his surprise, something changed. He could feel something growing. Like heat, fever even, but not uncomfortable. Or maybe more like muscles getting ready to do something. To hit or jump or dodge. It took some seconds, but then he could feel the current in his... well, cables. Raising his hand, he was able to see tiny little arcs flashing between his fingertips. And he got the idea that, maybe, it was not really wise to try this with his fur on. Luckily, Admin had ripped it earlier, so he could just drop it like a glove. Seeing his bare metal frame was not really something he liked, but setting the fur on fire was worse.

Springtrap tried to aim his naked arm at the targets, but nothing happened. At first. Then, one of the micro arcs went straight into the ground. That was at least something. He tried again, but this time, he also commanded himself:

Shot.

Which was not doing anything. So maybe it was the wrong command.

Arc.

Again, nothing.

Zap!

A weak bolt of electricity left his fingertip, and traveled towards one of the targets. It did not hit, but that was not really important.

“Whoa dude, you made it!” cheered Admin through the speakers.

Springtrap nodded, and tried it again. The next zap was stronger, and even hit the target, accompanied by a crackling sound. The third strike was actual strong enough to hurt, and the sound was more like thunder. The surges were, like any form of lightning, happening too fast to follow them, and still Springtrap could feel them leaving his frame, traveling, and finally hitting the wall. It was amazing. At the same time, he could tell that this last strike would have been enough to seriously harm, if not outright kill a human. And this was horrible.

Zap forbidden.

And nothing happened. Sure, the accumulated charge was still there, but no zap, not even the small lightnings between his fingers.

Zap allowed.

And again, a thunderbolt forcefully hit the dartboard, straight into the bullseye.

Zap forbidden. Wind down.

Could it really be so easy? It seemed so. The intern power level dropped down, until it was no more noticeable.

“Dude, that was sick!” said Admin when Springtrap entered the supervising room.

“Yeah. Sick as hell. Like, the killing sort of sickness.”

“How do you control it?”

“I pretend that I am a computer, and just make simple commands. It is... really easy. Seems there is some kind of lock command. At least I hope that it works this way.”

“Don't wanna practice more?”

“No. I just wanted to find a way to keep this under control. With this intern command, it seems to be. Mission completed.”  
“But...”

“Hey, this wasn't about playing around with this shitty specter crap, this was about not being a threat. I don't want to hurt anyone. Just no.”

“Okay dude, need me for something else?”

Springtrap looked up, smiled a little, and shook his head.

“No. Thank you. And good night.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**04.03.2020 – Breakdown** (Project Specter: 14)

 

 

“I take full responsibility for this, sir.” said Admin, still sporting a terrified expression.

Dr. Piers patted his shoulder.

“Nothing to worry about. You just tried to help.”  
“And that didn't turn out well.”  
“Therapy is never a straight line upwards. There are good days and bad, steps forward, and backwards. This was more or less supposed to happen, and could have at any time and any given situation.”

Admin nodded, but seemed not convinced.

“You need a guard in there?”

“No. He would never harm me. But... do be ready to call the mechanist. This might take a while, though.”

And the doctor entered the cell.

It was dark. And quite. It took not even two steps to bump into the first metal part. Dr. Piers stayed calm and focused. He gently picked up the part, which turned out to be a hand. The fur was gone, one finger was missing, one other twisted. Silently he closed the door, and turned the light on.

It was worse than it looked on screen. Again, he remembered himself to stay calm. This was not the first time that William ripped himself apart, and would probably not be the last one. Robotic parts and parcels of fur littered the whole room. The upper halve of the head was laying near the table, lights off. Making steady, but cautious steps, the doctor went around the small seating group, and looked into the one shaded corner the room had.

What was left of Williams bunny suit sat there. Only parts of the left arm remained, every other limb was missing. As was the head.

Fighting down a touch of nausea, he left the hand on the table, and went back to gather the head. Luckily, no mechanical knowledge was needed to reattach it to the lower halve. The lights went on, and, after a short look, William shut his eyes closed. Dr. Piers simply sat down next to him, and waited. After a couple of minutes, he placed a hand on Williams shoulder, and again he waited.

This was not the time to be angry. Or to fill him up with other peoples worries and thoughts. The only thing to do was staying with him. Showing him that he was not alone. Self-destructive behavior was not easy to handle, and most if not all people would freak out and make things even worse.

The two of them stayed like this for half an hour. No words were spoken, but the doctor never let go.

Finally, he talked.

“Do you want to be repaired in here?”

William weakly shook his head.

“So, the workshop is alright?”

No, again.

“But we need to put you back together.” the doctor continued “You need at least one hand to draw.”

He didn't move at all. And they stayed quite a little longer.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” whispered William.

Dr. Piers nodded. And made himself ready to wait another hour. But William would not stay quite that long.

“Are you not going to say anything?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I... why are you not angry? You are angry?”

“No, I am not.”  
“I caused trouble.”

“To yourself, yes. But I am not angry.”  
“Why?”  
“William... I am here to offer help to you. I can not force you to take it. Nobody can. We just offer it. Our long goal is, that you will be able to help yourself. But right now, you are not. And that is why we are here. I am here. You do not need to go through this alone.”  
“There is no hope.”

“It is raining today. The clouds are dark, the wind cold. Just looking outside makes you feel sad. But does this mean that there is no sun? No. The sun is there. Circumstances prevent you from seeing it. This is normal, William. These are symptoms of your conditions. Slowly, we will clean up your very personal sky. You, me, Sandra, Vincent, and all other people you allow to help.”  
“I am dangerous. I am a weapon. I killed. I could kill again.”  
“Maybe. Every human can be dangerous. This is, how things are. Like on some days, there is rain. I know what you did. You know it. Most people in here know. But nobody can change the past. Your involvement. Not even harming yourself will make anything better. I am not angry. Or sad. All together, what I think or feel about this doesn't matter at all. I still offer you help. I will listen, if you want. I will be quiet, if you want. Or I will try to give you advice, if you want.”

“I don't know what I want.”

“Then, we will try to find out. Is that alright with you?”

“I... I don't want to hurt someone. I don't want... to hurt.”  
“I know. But... aren't you a someone, too?”

Springtrap opened his eyes. A moment, he looked at Dr. Piers. Then, his view wandered around on the robotic parts scattered around the room. Finally, he went back to the doctors face.

“... I... I don't know. Am I?”

“Yes, you are. Maybe you were not allowed to be a someone before, but you are now. Someday, you will grow into it.”

Springtrap produced a sound close to a cry. And finally, the doctor pulled him close and gave him a hug.

 

 

**05.03.2020 – A favor of flavor**

 

 

Most parts of the limbs were beyond repair. It was ancient technology, and Springtrap did a rather good job completely destroying it, so replacement was needed. And that, in turn, was beyond the skill level of the prison mechanics, who usually only fixed cars and minor service robotics. Combining such an old, and unique, main body with new limbs needed someone who really knew what and how to do. Luckily, there was someone able to help.

It took Shu almost four hours to customize the newly acquired parts and make them work with Springtrap's original frame.

The young woman had been not exactly surprised as both Vincent and Dr. Piers filled her in. She was, in fact, happy to finally meet the brother of her adoptive father, but the whole specter topic made her curious at best, but was not shocking her the slightest.

Springtrap, not really happy at first, grew confident rather quickly while talking with Shu about his suit and the electronics inside. Since the suit needed to be powerless, he was put in a cell phone, so he could watch, and give advice. It was a meeting of two completely different approaches. Shu, being a robotics major, had much knowledge and a great and varied overview. Springtrap, on the other hand, had been an autodidact, and even with his skills and theoretical groundwork being three decades old, both seemed to get along quite well. In fact, Shu loved Springtrap's words and names for specific components. Frickle-wickle – a fragma-relais combining input from sensors and cutting out doubled information - was her favorite so far.

“I won't do anything else to the face.” she said, while adjusting the bunny ears “It's rather advanced tech, and you were able to tinker enough with it to meet modern standards.”  
“Well, natural facial expression had been one of the most important things back than. Too bad the springlock suits were meant to be worn by humans. The original head was a bubble. Looked awful.”

“Uncle, I gave you a compliment there. That's nothing I usually do, so you better appreciate it.”

“Okay... thank you.”

She smiled, and put her tools away. With a last look all over her work, she seemed overly pleased.

“It's done. Was far more interesting than any training university could ever come up with. You wanna go back?”  
“Sure.”  
Shu plugged in the data cable, and watched fascinated how the purple glow of her mobile faded, and just a second later, the robot went back to life. So far, all parts were powered, which was a good thing. The eyes were glowing purple. As were tiny control lamps dotting the new limbs and the waterproof shell of the torso. Something that should not be, since the built in lamps did not support different colors. But still.

“Oh wow.” said Springtrap, getting upright and rubbing his fingertips together “Holy shit. That’s sick. I can feel so much!”  
“Of course. Fine tuned sensors. It’s strange that you are able to actually work with these signals without any main processor or brain, but hey, I won’t crack my head open about this whole creepy stuff.”

“Boy that’s intense. Almost like I was alive again. Oh my. Can’t wait to draw with these babies. I bet they did cost a fortune.”  
“Nah. That’s third grade stuff.” said Shu “The best I could get in the hurry. But they will do.”  
“Still a hundred times better than my old stuff!”  
“Of course they are. It’s been thirty years. Your old fingers were claws, fitted with primitive pressure sensors. I have no clue how you were able to actually sense something with those.”

“And I don’t care.” answered Springtrap, happily poking the plastic casing of his new arms.

Shu shook her head, and looked at her father, who just smiled.

“Let him be happy.” said Vincent “The mysteries can wait another day or two to be solved.”

She sighed, but then smiled, too.

“Okay uncle, time to get up. I wanna see if you can keep your balance.”  
Springtrap nodded, and got of the table he so far lied on. He seemed a little surprised once he got up.

“Wow. That’s smooth.”  
“Yep. Walk a little.”

He did. The joints didn’t make any sound.

“Oh booooy. Feels great! I think I could even run with these!”

“You should be able to, yes.”  
“Suddenly I’m a youngling again. Heh!”

Out of the sudden, Shu gave him a push.

“Hey!”

She seemed pleased.

“Just testing if you would drop. I had to put quite some counterweight into your legs, to make up for the torso. Without these, a gentle breeze would have been enough to get you down.”

Springtrap smiled, and then started to bounce around. It was obvious how much he enjoyed his regained mobility. Remembering his missing fur, he went back to the table and put on a shirt and a pair of pants. Without any struggle. Which again, made him happy.

“I can’t thank you enough!” he said while Shu was getting ready to leave.

The young woman smiled.

“Happy to help. You’re family after all. AND this was quite interesting. I won’t get much chances to combine such ancient tech with modern stuff. So the pleasure was all mine.” a last time she looked all over him, then, with a smirk, she asked “Is there maybe something else? You know… strange signals or so…?”  
Springtrap shook his head. Then, just a second later, he seemed to rethink.

“Well...”

“Yes?”  
“Don’t get me wrong, I am really, really grateful. But… there is some… I don’t know. Sensor input. Thought it would go away, but it doesn’t.”

Shu’s smirk grew a little.

“Oh? Could you maybe try to locate the source? Maaaaybeee I did mess up something.”

“Yeah sure, it’s right here.” and Springtrap poked his nose. Then he would stare at his finger, as if he remembered something.

“Something wrong?”

“Nah I just… thought...”

Both Dr. Piers and Vincent looked at each other, while Shu seemed to be quite happy. Springtrap's facial expression changed rapidly, like if he had to sneeze. Than, almost in shock, he rubbed his bunny nose.

“Whatthehell!?”

“A little side project of mine.” said Shu nonchalantly “See it as a welcome gift of our family.”

Vincent seemed concerned.  
“What did you do?”

“It’s an ol-”  
“SMELLS!” screamed Springtrap “Motherfuckingholyshit I SMELL! Oh my god!”

“Yes, that. I put in an olfactory sensor, but one of my own making. Problem is, that all common sensors of this kind only scan the air for important stuff, like smoke or human blood and so on. So they don’t really ‘smell’, but check for relevant information, since a robot won’t have any use for the actual smell itself. My personal goal was, to imitate the way the human nose and brain work. That way, I hope to lay some groundwork for future artificial olfactory receptors. In case the natural ones are damaged or lost.”

“Oh dear.” said Vincent, while the three of them watched Springtrap trying to shove all reachable things into his bunny nose.

“Tch. YOU raised me to be a nice person, daddy-o.”  
“I’m not complaining. Quite the opposite, actually. William, are you alright?”  
“Youhavenoidea! Thirty years nothing! I FORGOT how to smell! What it is like! That’s why it was so strange at first, but now I remember! It’s like… like...”

His ears dropped, and the happy expression faded away. The first sob came out.

“Thankyousomuch...” he managed to say right before his voice cracked.

 

 

**06.03.2020 – A bunny in the rain**

 

 

“Good morning, Mr. Admin. And excuse me.” said Dr. Piers as he entered the office “I just wanted to ask Mr. Afton something, but he is not in his cell. Where is he?”

Admin looked up from his writing, and suddenly grew a rather happy smile.

“I'll gladly show you, sir, but get ready for some sugary cuteness.”

One of the many screens on the walls changed. The doctor recognized the courtyard, which would not really fit his original question. But then, he was able to spot the person sitting on the ground.

“What is he... but it is raining!”

“He was made waterproof, you remember?”

“But... but...”  
“Full story: He asked me an hour ago if he might be allowed to go into the yard. He wanted to... smell the rain. Said it has been always his favorite thing. And behold.”

Again, the screen changed, as Admin was loading some earlier videos of the same security camera. These showed Springtrap, happily jumping into puddles. Or just standing silently in the middle of the yard, staring into the gray sky.

“He left his cell on his own?”  
“No. One of the guards brought him out. But after this, he was on his own. Of course I was watching him the whole time. He really seemed happy. Still is. Personally I don't want to call him in again.”

“You better get him a hair dryer.” was all the doctor said, but his smile definitely showed that he was happy, too “Well. In that case I might wait a little bit with that question of mine. Hm. Since I am already here... I would like to know what he is primarily searching in the internet.”

“Mostly stuff about drawing.” answered Admin “But he also reads up things about what happened in his away-time. Beside this, it's quite varied, but nothing odd. I guess he mostly tried to find some reference or so that he could draw. Oh. One thing that might interest you: Quite soon after I showed him how to use the web, he looked up a couple of names. I made a quick check and those were in fact... well. The kids.”  
“I see.”  
“He tried to find out if they had been buried. That lead him to newspaper articles reporting about the trial of Mrs. Horace, and the aftermath. He did stay quite some time on these sides. Often staring at single pictures.”  
“How did he react?”

“Was nighttime, so I didn't watch. The tapes showed him calm. But I think he was talking to the pictures. At least his mouth was moving.”

“He didn't say anything about this.”  
“Guess it was a very personal thing. I mean, he specifically wanted to know if the bodies had been found and laid to rest. Maybe to draw a line?”

“Usually he talks to me about things like that. Our work needs him to trust me, and if he keeps things like these away from me...”

“Sir. You once told me to notify you when I think that you work yourself up too much. I am hereby doing this.”

Dr. Piers crossed his arms, and his view lost its focus for a couple of seconds. He let out a sigh, and shoved his glasses up to rub his eyes.

“Maybe you are right. I had my share of patients, but for some odd reason, this one is closer to me than I should allow.”

“I know that feeling, sir. Springtrap is... quite a character. And his life story might be a little bit out of line.”  
“A little bit.”

“I ask myself what he would be like when raised by different people.”  
“Probably quite similar to Vincent.”

“You think?”

“Indeed. Even if it doesn't look like it, they share a great deal of attributes. One is just not able to let these shine like they should.”

Both men watched, as Springtrap started to jump trough puddles again.

 

 

As the rain turned into drizzle, Springtrap went back inside. Just to be greeted by a rather happy looking doctor.

“Good morning, Mr. Afton.” he said, holding something up “I think you might need this.”

It took Springtrap a moment to figure out that this object was a hair dryer. He looked down at his soaked clothes and fur.

“Boy, I'd never make a good master mind. You guys find the flaws in my brilliant plans before I do.”

It took fifteen minutes to get him dry again.

“So. Have you been spying on me? Or why are you so happy?”  
“I would not call it spying.” answered Dr. Piers “But yes, I did. Accidentally, so to speak. My original intention was to ask you, if it would be uncomfortable for you if both Vincent and I stayed with you at your upcoming meeting with your daughter.”

“Not at all.”

“Good. I figured it may be better this way. Since you will very much likely talk about Mrs. Horace.”  
“And you think I will freak out, hm?”  
“Well... you did get triggered by a journalist's red nail polish, just a couple of days ago. I just want to be there, if this happens again.”

Springtrap sighed, and dropped down on a chair.

“Fair point. Still don't know why that happened. It just... just was like... suddenly...”  
“We talked about this. You do not need to justify your reaction.”

“I ran away from her and looked myself up in the ladies' restroom for two hours. That's stupid.”

“This is how a trigger works. A tiny little fragment that pulls out a whole set of memories. And to be honest, I could think of far worse things to happen.”

“Still I need to get this out. Can't walk down a street this fragile. And you guys are not always there to help. I mean... sooner or later I'll get out of here, right?”

For a moment or two, the doctor seemed surprised. He threw a quick glance at his watch, and then sat down next to Springtrap.

“Did I hear something resembling a positive outlook there?”

“Ouch. Busted.”

“What brought this sudden and more than welcome change of attitude?”

“Don't you have patients to cure?”  
“You are a patient. And I would be a bad therapist when I ignored this development.”

Springtrap looked up.

“Full story?”

“Full story.”  
“Fine. I couldn't sleep tonight. Don't get me wrong, I'm still fucking happy about this thingy here.” he poked his bunny nose “But it is something new. I mean... you remember, as a kid, when you lost some teeth, there was this gap, and you would nudge around in it until your tongue was bleeding. It's the same thing with me right now. I barely can get my mind on anything else but smelling. It is... it... I remember. Has been so long. I forgot it. How to smell. And that... that hurt. It hurts now, thinking about it. Because... it probably was the single pleasant thing I would allow myself to enjoy when I was alive. And I FORGOT it. Didn't cost a single buck just keeping your nose open. And I forgot it. Sure, I remember well that I enjoyed rain and springflowers and pizza, but the thing itself, the smell, I forgot.”  
“And this makes you sad.”

“Yes. I asked myself what else I forgot. I have... have so much to learn. Things about myself. I need to get to know myself. For the first time, actually. But also need to learn stuff about this world that is not mine. About being a brother. And... and part of a family. Vincent wants me to, and... and I think, I want this, too. But there is more. I also need to learn how to be... a ghost. A specter. This is all new.”  
“This does not really explain why you suddenly look forward to move one and get better. I remember that just a week ago you were very angry that court had not sued you to a longer prison term.”

“I was at the other side.” said Springtrap, quietly “Again. Don't know how it happened. I tried to get myself away from this overwhelming smelling stuff, and... suddenly... well. I am sorry, this shit is so stupid. Won't believe it myself if I wasn't dead.”

The doctor looked genuinely concerned.

“It seems to happen quite often currently. That the Veil appears somewhere near to you...”  
“No. Not... not... today, I was _there_. Like, it not only was at the edge of my mind. I crossed the line.”

“Oh dear.”

“You don't believe me.”  
“Given the fact that you are lacking every and all neurochemicals necessary for hallucinations, I think I am more willing to believe this than you are.”

“Heck, I surely won't buy a single word of this insane shit. But... but this time... I told you what Marianne told me. That I maybe could 'travel' trough the Rooms. I think I did just that. I... meet... no, that's the wrong word. I found traces of people. Memories. I think ghosts are... dissolving there. Like a drop of paint in water. Getting thinner, without disappearing. It's hard to tell apart memories and active thinking of a ghost. All... all blurry. Oh boy this sounds like jabbering of a madman.”

“Even if it was just a trick of your mind, it did something to you, and therefor needs some attention.”

“I know... It's not possible that I could have made this stuff up. I got to know some things about different people. You remember someone named Richard Bell?”

The doctor grimaced, hit by unpleasant memories. He readjusted his glasses, and fold his arms.

“A tragic case, indeed.” he said “Precisely when I thought he would finally turn around, he committed suicide.”  
“I know. He's still... well. Not exactly bound to this place... but... his... color is still here. A trace. Like an ancient fart. I had the bad luck smelling it in the Rooms, and now I find it here, too. He once was hold in this very cell. He died in here.”

“Knowledge that you clearly could not get otherwise.”

“Yeah. But there were others, too. Ghosts, I mean. Without connection to this prison. I am not sure if I even remember everything. But... but while I was there, something became really clear to me. I don't belong there. Feeling all those ghosts'... remorse... regret... they think about life. Think about what they did, and what they can no longer do. You know... this... this made me... happy?”  
“Happy?”  
“Yes. Because... because I am allowed to return. To this side. I am allowed to do things. I am here. I can... I can draw. Can get better at it. I will get better at drawing. I can talk to you. I can talk to Vincent. I will soon meet my family. I can talk to them. I can... I CAN. It never was that clear to me. That there is some sort of worth. This Richard guy is aware that he is dead. And he is sad about this. Thinking about all those things he can no longer do. He had plans for the time after prison. He had a wife, and a son. He misses them. I am allowed to talk to my brother. I can tell him that I... that I am really grateful for all this time and positivity he puts into me. I can say to YOU that I am grateful. I... I don't know how to phrase this. It just... opened my eyes? Perhaps? Does this make any sense at all?”  
“It does. And actually, I am really happy that you made this discovery.”  
“Me too. Yes, I think... I think I am happy to know now. I want to be alive. I want to smell the rain.”

 

 

“Seriously? Throwin' goddamn corpses into the Hudson? Ya INSANE?!”

“Probably.” answered the Marionette without a single hint of amusement “Now keep on. As soon as you are done you'll get back to repair the builder.”

“Bro, I'm on and about for thirty hours now, barley can walk a straight line.” snarled Lance back while disposing another squishy bundle into the river.

“Fine. Five hours sleep, but then back to work.”

“Oh how grateful I am for my benevolent master. Where even did ya GET these?!”

“Spies. Either from Fazaka, or from the government. Both would be bad, since I WANT that building machine for my own.”

“Fazaka's long dead and gone, idiot.”

“Yeah sure. As if a huge, diabolic and unscrupulous enterprise would just close down because of some bad press. They hide, and lick their wounds.”  
“And'cha know tha- hurgh! Boy, that's a fat one.”

“Probably muscle, not fat. These were well trained. And I know this because some years ago we used that sorry moron locked up in the old place as a gateway to filtrate some knowledge out of the Rooms. Fazaka might have been able to hide their tracks on _this_ side of the Veil, but the dead don't lie.”

“Ya lost me.”

“Big surprise. If I wouldn't need a scavenger and driver, you'd been dead meat long ago.”

Lance didn't say anything, he just threw the last body over the short fence. A muffled splash. He looked into the black deep, but thanks to the fog, he was not able to make anything out.

“Ya know that these will float, right?”  
“It's a river, Lance. It has currents. Sure, they will get beached some day, but I don't care. Beside that, the boys had some fun defiling the bodies. Hard to make out as a human corpse. And now get back into the truck, you have work to do.”

“And sleep. I need sleep.”  
“We-”  
“Oh get fucked, ya dimwitted undead piece of shit!” shouted Lance “Wanna me work? Fine! Than make sure I am in a stable condition! Jesus, even a toddler knows when to stop.”

“Scream at me once again...”  
“Then what? Kill me?! Please do! Ain't be afraid anymore. I'm so tired and hungry could take a bite out of stinky bunny's brain and fall asleep while chewin'.”

And Lance kicked the robot he was chained to. The specter reacted too late, and fell down with a loud thud.

The air grew even more chilly.

“Great.” said the Marionette “That's what you get for not beating them on a daily basis. Get back into the car, Lance. You'll get your rest.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**08.04.2020 – The Moon meets the Sun** (Project Specter: 15)

 

 

She hadn't been on earth for some time.

Since the global ban of mega concerns and daughters, every large enterprise was owned by legal government. The Luna Initiative was therefor owned by the European Federation, who made sure every citizen wore their weights, so in an event of evacuation, people would be able to survive Earth's gravity. Also, anyone born and raised on Luna got a set of supplements, so organs and such would develop in line. Now, that Samantha was going to travel down, she had her weights removed. Normally she would bounce around a little, enjoying the reduced gravity, but she was far too nervous to do this. Kanani was at work, so she waited all alone. And if she had to name something she really hated, then that would have been waiting.

She could have walked over and talk to some people, since she knew quite a bunch of them from work, but again, she was too nervous. It was one thing to go down for business, but something whole different to meet a part of family that had just recently popped up out of nowhere. Being so focused on herself, she did not see the man approaching until he stood in front of her.

Samantha looked up, and for a second or two felt like looking into a mirror. Lavender eyes, blonde, shaggy hair, a broad grin.

“Oh my god.” was all she could say.

“Nah, God is busy. But he send me. Hope it's okay for you.”

She blushed a little, and shook the hand he was offering.

“Nice to finally meet you, Mr-”  
“Ah come one. It's Johnny. Or like the Germans say: Sag du zu mir und ich sag du zu dir. Oh, but don't get any wrong idea, my German is terrible.” and he grinned again.

Samantha needed a second to react.

“Okay... s-sorry. It's just... normally I'm not a little shy schoolgirl, but this all is much to put in. I mean... we are relatives. Cousins. I never had relatives.”  
“You better get used to this, once we're at my parents' you will get swarmed by them.”  
“Oh dear... I... I think I left the stove on. I'll be right back!”

“Nu-uh. Not a chance. My dad would get you down to Earth, even if he would need to build a ladder.”

Samantha's nerves calmed down rather fast. Her cousin was easy to talk with, and since they both were Lunarians, there was some gossip to share.

The shuttle was already at full speed when they finally moved to the more wholesome stuff.

John told her much about the family. The ups and downs, fights and happy times. Samantha, in return, talked a little about her own life, but she went not into detail. It reminded her that the women she knew as her loving and caring mother had been the murderer of almost fifty children. Of course Samantha had felt guilty for some time. That, maybe if she had been more observant, she would have noticed something. Anything. Today she knew that there had been nothing for her to do. Who would suspect ones own mother to be a serial killer? A mother who baked little sheep cookies with sugar coating for wool and chocolate sparkles for smiling faces. A mother who sang the nicest lullabies, who always gave the best advice, who always had an ear or two when something went wrong. A mother who had abused and raped a teenager, had turned him into a toy to play with, a bait to get more victims, and who made him believe that he was the actual killer. A mother who accepted her death sentence with a single nod.

The modern shuttles didn't need that long from Luna to Earth. Sure, it still was an twenty six hour trip to reach the Spaceport, but it was comfortable traveling. Not only sported the ship a full scaled restaurant, but also a media center, and large sleeping areas. The floors were horizontal to the flight path, so the inertia would act as a substitute gravity. Sure, it was not enough to really be felt, but it kept food and drinks where they belonged to. Since the ship was never meant to withstand anything else but empty space and Luna's low gravity, the design was rather spacious.

A luxury compared to the actual transit between space and Earth.

The Spaceport itself was, in line with Lunarian and European standards, nice to be at. Again, gravity was created artificially, this time by letting the major part of the port rotate round its own center.

But after that, one could not fail to see the differences. Drop ships going to the EF, Hawaii, or Africa were compact but streamlined, ships from Asia were huge, since they always transported more cargo than actual passengers. Finally the ones going down to the USA. Simply put, there weren't any. Still struggling with their debt and financial crisis that had forced them to drop out of WW3, the US had to shut down most of their scientific programs and efforts, including the FSA, the Federal Space Agency. The whole traffic between the states and Luna was forced to go over three choke points: Zapata, royal spaceport of Mexika, Nelson Spaceport, next to Vancouver, Canada, and finally Bangor, in the former state of Maine, since 1985 First American Nation Wabanaki.

And nothing else.

Fortunately, Boston was not that far away form Wabanaki. Unfortunately, Boston was just a stone's throw away from New York City. And only three more days until Easter. The drop ship was cramped, loud, and hot. Breaking atmosphere didn't do anything to improve this.

When they were finally on ground and out of the ship, Samantha needed a moment to get adjusted. Even breathing felt different. The heart was beating faster, it felt like being nervous. Which she probably was, too, but she knew that this would stick a day or two. As per routine, some spaceport employees took a fast medical check, to make sure the both of them were doing well.

“It's a really nice spaceport.” said Samantha, while they were waiting for their luggage.

“Sure. I mean, it's Wabanaki.”

“And that means?”

“Most First Nations do rather well. In 1998, the US, Canada, and the European Federation had paid eighty billions to make up for colonization and such, nations like this one got some money to spend. Put it into got use.”

“Oh yes, true... I forgot. I've never been here before.”

“Oh? Why not?”  
“Had no business in the eastern states. Zapata I know, and a couple of ports in Europe, but not this one.”

“Ah... yeah, you left in 2008...”  
“And had no reason to ever look back. Until now.”

“Hm... well, I'm going down rather often. Family and so on.” said John, while putting their suitcases on the carrier “For me, it's the other way around, I think. Luna is just the place I work. Life is going on here on Earth.”

“So no-one up there?”  
“Nah.” he grinned “Pa always says I'm getting after his brother. Not just the looks, but also attitude towards work.”

“Oh... did you meet him? I mean... my father?”  
John went back to a serious face, and shook his head.

“Not yet. Well, the press was full of stuff, but I won't give a single about what they had to say... Actually, you know far more then I do, since I only was informed that my uncle had been found, but the circumstances would be a little bit freaky.”

“Freaky indeed...” answered Samantha, remembering her talk with both Vincent, and the doctor. The later one had turned into a two hour session. Surely, that would get her a nice phone bill. Not even to start with what this all would mean to her personal views and beliefs. Ghosts and afterlife hadn't exactly been parts of these.

It was a nice day in spring. Trees were covered in fresh green, flowers started to bloom, and birds were singing all around. Even with Wabanaki mainly consisting of pine woods, it was easy to feel how nature awoke after winter.

As they left the area of the spaceport, Samantha went to take a look at the bus stop. Several lines went to other cities in Wabanaki, some to Canada, but only two into the USA.

“Blergh. Two hours waiting for the next one to Boston.” she said, not happy at all.

“I beg to differ.” answered John, and pointed towards some person approaching them.

It was a rather tall man, broad shoulders, but slim. The red of his short hair was already fading, he had to be around fifty. Before she knew what was happening, the man hugged her.

“Welcome down on Earth!” he said, his voice was deep, soft and warm.

“Thank you. Erm. Mr...?”

“Mr. uncle.” he answered, amber eyes shining with pride.

“What?”  
“Heyho daddy-o.” said John, who was receiving a hug as well.

“How was the ride, sonny?”

“Cramped as always. And I think you broke your niece.”

Both men looked at her, while the older one, who probably was Vincent, seemed concerned.

“Apologies.” he said “I tend to be a little over-affectionate.”

“Oh, no, it's fine. I am just... maybe a little bit... let's say, you don't match my personal idea of a grandpa.”

“Tzz. Does this look like an old man to you?” he asked jestingly, and flexed his right biceps.

“Just ignore him.” said John “He's a goofball year-round.”

“Feel welcome to walk all the way home, son.”  
John just sported a broad grin, produced a pair of keys and jiggling them around. A second, Vincent looked surprised, shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Okay, you got me good.” he admitted.

“Had the best teacher.” answered John, giving the car keys back.

Samantha smiled. So far, she had had only serious talks with... well, her uncle. Seeing him all open and cheerful was quite refreshing.

Fitting for a family this large, Vincent's car was actually a van, with three seats in the front row. They would be on road for four hours, which left plenty of time to get to know each other. First, it had been smalltalk, with John talking about his current projects, Vincent describing how things were at home, and Samantha occasionally commenting. After the better part of an hour, they finally were comfortable enough to get back to the serious stuff.

“So, you are my family know.” said Samantha, still surprised how alien these words felt.

“Only if you would like us to be.” was Vincent's answer “Nobody wants to push you. I mean, beside the bloodline, there is nothing that connects you to us.”

“Oh daddy, don't be silly. She's like, a reflection of me and the twins.”

“Twins?”

“Yes, Oliver and Lucas. Don't worry, you probably will forget all these names a couple of times. These three boys look all very much like my own dad. And even more like my brother. So, you are quite fitting indeed. You even have his eyes.”

Samantha looked out of the window for a minute or two. Before asking further.

“How is he?”  
“A wreck.” was the short answer “A pile of shards, barely hold together by the work and good will of five people. We made some progress these last weeks – really, he's like a new person now – but it takes just one wrong word to get him down. Don't get me wrong, he is not aggressive at all. Well. Not towards others. A far too large part of him just wants to be dead.”

“You think he would like to... see me?”  
“Yes. He is worried what... well, about your wellbeing. But also, he is afraid. He is always scared to hurt someone, to make mistakes. Also, he is exhausted. Tired. Of being alone. Of being not allowed to be a someone. A person with needs. He never had been mentally healthy, even when he was alive. But now...”  
“Hoh daddy-o, one second, what do you mean with 'alive'?!”

“I tell you soon enough, sonny.”

Surprisingly, John seemed to accept this. He went back looking straight on the street.

“Do you... think he will get better?”

“Honestly, I don't know, Samantha. There is only so much the human mind can endure. The only person who ever did something for him was abusing him at the very same time, which, in turn, filled him to the brim with regret and guilt. He tried to end his own live, he made himself suffer at any given occasion. And as if this was not enough, even death itself could not grant him peace. William spend thirty years isolated and alone, trapped between life and death., the circumstances that hold him here on Earth are completely insane. I try to help as much as I can. Actually, I got him to agree to spend at least an hour with my family at Easter. I want him to feel welcome. And wanted. I want him to see that he also deserves to be happy. That he is able to produce this feeling.”

“Don't you think this is a little bit too much at once? And too fast?”  
Vincent glanced at her, sporting an unfathomable expression.

“Maybe.” he said, quietly “But I think... he waited long enough to be loved. To be happy. I won't be around forever, and I am not able to turn back the time. So, I want to do as much as possible. He is my brother. My goddamn brother. I missed him so much. Went trough so many years of grief. HE went trough much more. Maybe I am too fast forward. But, to be honest with you, Samantha, I am... am still oh so happy. And at the same time, those old wounds... well, they never healed for good, and now some things come back.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well... I was the oldest. Okay, we had a second sister who decided to stay in England, but at home, I was the oldest. To my father, I was the hope of his bloodline. For mother, I neither was a thread nor someone who shared her fears. So, basically, both left me alone. I had supportive friends at school, and I started to work rather soon. So, alltogether, I was able to let my parents and the crap they did behind, and start a live on my own. My brother... William, had it far worse. In fact... well, forgive me to be that blunt, but he had the bad luck meeting your mother.”

Samantha looked at him, and nodded.

“That was indeed bad luck.”

“I'm sorry. I just... you know, sometimes I just wish to travel back in time and say to my younger me to gather my siblings and get the hell out of there.”  
“Daaaad... don't be so harsh. You were fifteen.”  
“I know.” he sighed “I know. It took me years to forgive myself this mistake.”  
“Did you know about my mother?”  
“No. William never ever said a single word. We had... after our mother died, we sold the house and I moved on to start a real live for my own. I worked much these days, as William did. We... didn't spend much time together. And if we did, he was always so exhausted that he could not do much more than crying and sleeping. I tried to convince him to quit his job. I just wished I had been more serious. Maybe, if I knew, I could have-”  
“Daaaaad.”

Vincent sighed again, and stayed quite for some moments. Which left Samantha some time to look at John.

“Was this often a topic at your home?”  
Her cousin nodded.

“Dad spend years in therapy. Actually, that was how he meet mom in the first place. We all tried to be there for him when he had his... moments. But honestly, none of us were able to really understand this all. Uncle William was just a picture on the shelf. But hey. We are family. We went trough all of this together. And the bunch of us was rather good at keeping dad busy.”

“Absolutely.”

“By the way, daddy-o, what's for dinner on Easter?”  
“Your mother wants to cook.”  
John seemed sad.

“Awww, so it's Chinese takeaway again.”

“Watch you tongue.” said Vincent, but couldn't keep himself from grinning “Just a joke, sonny.”  
“So, you usually do the cooking?”  
“Yep. Had been that way since I retired.”  
“Oh, I hope not out of sickness?”  
“Not at all. See, Olivia... your aunt, got that fancy professorship for Psychology at the Boston State University in 2001. She earned whopping four times as much as I did with my job as a construction worker. And since we had adopted two more kids just two respective four years earlier, I quit and stayed home.”  
“That's nice.”

“Just rational thinking.”  
“Yeah sure dad, just rational. As always.”  
“Okay okay... I loved spending time with my kids. I always did. Being a father is... nothing short of my personal paradise.”

“And therapy, too.” added John, without any hint of humor.

“Yes. Giving happiness makes you happy in return. I just wish my brother will see this someday. He's not a burden. He makes me happy. The fact that he still is here... All that time he just wanted to be happy. He knew only one way, and that was the wicked game of that cursed wrench Lucy... Oh dear... I am sorry.”  
“Don't be.” answered Samantha “Curse her name as often as you want. She DID kill 46 children. She did rape and abuse and destroy your brother... my father. And she went on with this for all the time she raised me. Believe me, I often asked myself these questions. If I could have done something to prevent it. If it was my fault not noticing anything. And so on. The women who baked me cookies was a serial killer. And, in the end, she got her punishment. Yes, this won't make up for anything, but maybe, I can do something to make the wounds she left heal.”  
“This is not your duty.”

“Maybe not. But I want to.”

“Okay. Just don't let this get the better of you.”

They went on silently for some time. The pine forests of Wabanaki became lighter, and soon, they reached the border, entered the USA at Portsmouth.

“Oh I almost forgot...” said Vincent after they left town again “Take a look into the glovebox. There's a couple of pictures you might want to see.”

Samantha took them out, and started going through them. Most of them showed people she did not recognize, but she was somehow sure that these had to be her family. As she went on, the photos got older. Suddenly, there was this one man. Half of the photos showed him. And again, Samantha felt as if she was looking into a mirror.

“That's him.” she said, more to herself.

“Yep. I'm all thumbs, but these are all I have left, regardless of quality.”

“Oh my... he... oh my...”

Vincent snickered.

“Yeah. These genes are strong. Oh. The last ones are new again. You... might want to make yourself ready for... some gore.”

Indeed, the last ten or so photos were modern. Samantha stare at the first one, trying to figure out what she was looking at. A dark room, run down, broken furniture. The lighting was bad, flash lights for sure. At the center, a moldy mass was visible. She flipped to the next picture. Said mass turned out to be... a bunny costume. Large patches of fur where missing, robotic parts visible. What was left was rotting, and covered with some dark substance. The whole thing seemed to be filled with blackish stuff. The next picture showed the bunny in daylight for the first time. What she first thought to be dirt, turned out as... parts of a human corpse. Without noticing it at first, Samantha started to cry, but managed to move on. Now it became clear that this bunny was not just an empty shell. A classical mug shot followed, with the bunny holding a tablet with its name.

William Dante Afton.

After that, some pictures showed him while he was cleaned, and repaired. And his corpse.

The very last photograph was actually the first one that made her feel a little bit happy. The same bunny, modified to look far more natural, smiled while holding up a colorful picture of a dragon. A tear dropped down on the picture. She wiped it away, but her fingertips stayed on there. Samantha knew that he was her father, but she had no connection to him. And still, she was crying.

She kept staring at the last picture for more then ten minutes. Then she went back to those that showed him alive. None of these were happy. Nothing, but a burnt out man with dark circles around his eyes.

Finally, Samantha was able to put the photos away. So much was going on in her that she could hardly find a clear thought. Both men had been silent all the time, and no one wanted to force her into a conversation. Which she was grateful for.

After her mother's execution, Samantha had had quite a hard time to regain her personal faith in justice. Killing the murderer would not bring back any of the victims. Not would it do anything to heal the wounds, to care for those who had lost a beloved one. Even death was not enough to pay. Nothing was able to make up for a committed crime. That was also true for her father. After learning about his involvement, Samantha always had thought that death was a punishment far too merciful.

But now… seeing those pictures?

Imagining a man who spend thirty years all alone in this room? Not knowing what was going on, why he was not dead? Riddled with guilt, haunted by his past, his own thoughts, and even… ghosts. Again she felt how her understanding of justice shifted. She remembered how her mother had talked about her father. Not a single time she had called him a murderer. Not even a criminal. No, Lucy would always talk about her tool. Her pet. Her good boy. Thinking again about some of the things Lucy had said, it almost seemed like… she had tried to excuse him. To take all the guilt on herself. Indeed, he had just been a moving part in her scheme. But did this make him innocent? And even if he was guilty… hadn’t he already paid a price? Maybe even more than just one time? His life had been a disaster, he died, but he still was on earth. Trapped. All alone for such a long time.

But… if he had to be forgiven, than, again, Lucy deserved mercy, too, didn’t she?

 

 

Boston hadn’t changed much since Samantha’s departure. Despite being so close to New York City, it was a rural town.

They drove into the outskirts, a pretty, calm area filled with single family homes. Nice gardens with trimmed hedges and blooming spring flowers. Just some minutes later, Samantha stood in front of the Afton house. It was somewhat larger than she had expected, probably the biggest house in the neighborhood. Three stories high, surrounded by a large and nice garden. It felt cozy, even if it was her first time being here. The men carried her luggage, which made her a little uncomfortable. She was used to be on her own. Sure, she was married, but not for that long. And Kanani spent much time at work.

Inside, the house was spacious and decently decorated - far from being a cliché old people home filled with tacky kitsch. It also was obviously not a typical American house, since one would enter a hallway, and not the living room.

It turned out that John and herself were the first guests to arrive, with all the others coming two days later. Actually, that was rather nice, since she had some time to get used to being on Earth again. And having a family. Vincent was a nice host. Made sure that she had everything she needed, without being pesky or forcing her to have a look at every single brick of the house or showing her trophies or such.

No, everything felt quite relaxed and quaint, which allowed Samantha to calm her nerves a little, and get used to those people already there. Vincent, John, and the youngest child, Shu. So far, her family had been rather welcoming and friendly, but in a way that felt natural. She could tell that Vincent wasn’t just polite, but truly happy that she stayed here. It was all different from visiting a friend, like Samantha did back in school. Absolutely different. This here was more like… a second home. So, that’s what family felt like?

Later that evening, Mrs. Afton would come back from work. Olivia was a tall, slender women, her hair already gray and worn in a rather formal bun. Together with her frameless glasses and conservative black clothes she would appear a strict and austere academic, but that impression quickly faded away after she had changed into comfy everyday clothes, her long hair open. She was like a sponge. Soaking up everything Samantha had to tell, finding even the most common thing worth to be known. She made one feel good about themselves.

And they were a nice couple, too. Vincent was a bag full of sunshine, but he had something of a prankster as well. Making dad jokes. And he was a formidable cook. Even if he managed to drop more eggs than actually went into the dish.

As someone from outside, Samantha could see, and feel, how these people supported each other. It was like a circuit sending power from one family member to the next. And somehow, she had been made part of this network.

That evening, when Samantha lied in a foreign bed in a foreign house on a planet that she no longer regarded as her home, she felt... warm.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**09.04.2020 – If I had one wish** (Project Specter: 16)

 

 

This place certainly did not look like Samantha would have imagined a prison in the USA. No gray concrete walls, no barbed wire, the guards were barely armed with a single pistol, and a baton. The hallways were spacious, painted a creamy white. Although the large windows were barred, there were curtains with floral prints.

“This is really a prison?” she finally dared to ask.

“Doesn't look like one, eh?” said Vincent with a smirk “I was surprised, too.”

“Well, in the first place we are a psychiatric sanitarium.” the guardswoman guiding them pointed out “Only loosely tied to the rest of the prison. So, the fact that we house criminals is more or less a side note.”

“Still, it baffles me.”  
“Like most, Mr. Afton. To be very honest, this all would not be possible without Dr. Piers. He's the driving force in here. All that started as some kind of pilot project, an idea our Admin had some twenty years ago. Don't look that surprised, he is augmented, quite older than he seems. But it was the good work of the doctor that made the obvious finally visible. It's not enough to just lock someone away. You need to help them. No matter what they did, they still are humans. They still deserve to be treated like one.”  
“You really stand behind this, do you?”

The stern women allowed herself a tiny smile. She nodded.

“Let's put it this way: Half of my time in here I spend on the other side of the locked door. They offered me help when everyone else would turn away. They had hope when I could not see any for myself. I decided to stay here and repay the favor.”

“Oh dear. I... I never...”

“Never thought about what happens to criminals _after_ they went trough their sentence, hm?”

“... Yes. Exactly this. I feel ashamed.”

They arrived at Dr. Piers' office on the third floor. The guard turned around, again sporting her stern and resolute expression.

“We don't turn into thin air.” she said “Actually, the time after prison is the real punishment for most. This is even more true when you carry around an issue that won't go away by itself. Everyone is eying you, expecting the worst. In a time like this, where everything stands and falls with your job, being a former criminal means to hit rock bottom after your release. People trust a machine more than they trust a fellow human. And nobody offers help.” she sighed “Apologies. You are not here to get lectured. And even if, it's the doctor's job to do this. Just head in. He's awaiting you.”

The office was, like the whole place, comfortably furnished. Through the windows, some late morning sun came in.

Dr. Piers rose from his desk, shook their hands and offered them seats. He might have been in his forties, a tall man, a little chubby, wearing frameles glasses, and sporting a freudian beard. It, as well as his thinning hair, was grayish-white, which was a stark contrast to his black skin. The wrinkles of his face marked him as someone who smiled as often as he looked worried.

After some smalltalk, they finally went on to the reason for her being here.

“I would like to explain how we will proceed.” the doctor began “Since this will be a rather critical situation. Not because of you, surely, but the two of you will certainly talk about topics that may or may not trigger him. That is the reason we moved this talk into his cell, where he is more comfortable, as well for both Vincent and me staying with you at the beginning. Please understand that we do not intend to spy on you or anything, it is just that he is delicate. Maybe he will go through this without a notch, or maybe he will have a breakdown the second you walk in. I just like to be cautious. Additionally, I can tell that you are as nervous as him.”

Samantha giggled a little.

“Is it that obvious?”

The doctor smiled at her.

“Well. You could say that it is my job to look into people's heads. One tends to get used to it.”

“Fair point. I... I am not sure what to think right now. Can't deny that I am uncomfortable to be... here... in Boston. But than again, Vincent's... my..... family... wow that still sounds strange.”

“Naturally.”

“How is he right now?”

“Nervous, indeed. We prepared this meeting, and he is afraid of, to cite him, 'fuck this up beautifully'. Which reminds me to warn you: William tends to use a very heavy-set language when he is nervous or afraid, without thinking that this may irritate other people.”

“He spend thirty years on his own, I think this can be forgiven.”

“We share this point of view, then. Still, be aware that he doesn't aim to attack you verbally. He never used a single racial slur against me or Mrs. Yong, this is no ill will, but simply his way to cope with stress.”

“Understood.”

“Very well. Anything else you would like to ask?”

“No. Not right now, at least. Despite all, I'm looking forward to meet him.”

 

Springtrap checked his reflection in the mirror. Maybe for the hundredth time this very day. Before he could stumble into another round of self doubt, he turned away from the mirror and repeated his therapeutic mantra.

“This is how it is. Can't change it right now, no matter how much you try. Don't waste energy freaking out, you're fine.”

He sighed. Still unsure if this self-conditioning would do the trick. At first, he had refused to do this. After all, it was just brainwashing. But Dr. Piers had a good point. If you end up at a dead end, you have to walk the same path you came, just the opposite direction.

He tried to calm down, and just sat at the table.

Just a second later, his right foot started to wiggle.

He tried to stop it by crossing his legs.

Now, both feet wiggled.

“Traitors. Both of you.” he mumbled while glancing down at them.

Finally, the door opened.

And before knowing it, Springtrap sat in front of a woman who looked as nervous as him. Who watched him as curiously as he watched her. She was not as pale as he might have expected from someone living in artificial light. And not that tall. But then again, he was a two meter bunny robot, so almost everyone around was shorter than him. And her eyes...

“You look nothing like her.” Springtrap said, and put his hands on his mouth just a second later.

Not the best starter, right?

But Samantha seemed somewhat relieved that she got something to respond to.

“I already learned that I fit rather well in the Afton clan.”

“Yeah, get yourself some nice mental illness and you're fine.”

Strike number two. Springtrap closed his eyes, pulling at his bunny ears.

“Oh, I am sure that I have the right combination of genes to get something fancy.” answered Samantha.

“You even got my crappy humor. Boy, that can't be genetics, right? It's bad enough that you look like me.”

“You think? Personally I like my eyes. Blonde and blue is cliche, but purple? That's special.”

At least that made Springtrap smile a little.

“I liked them, too. Erm, when I still had eyes, I mean. I... you... you don't think I am just a robot, yes?”

Samantha was a little bit surprised how quickly her.. well, father, switched from a little forced friendliness into almost desperate doubt. This was probably his main concern, given the fact that he looked really worried and afraid this very moment.

“Of course not.” was her answer, but it didn't do much to reassure him. So maybe she had to go a little bit more into detail.

“Okay, see. On Luna, for each human, we have six droids, so we Lunarians are rather used to interact with robots. Even modern robotics have their knacks. For example, eye contact. A medium grade droid can read a human's expression, but to do so they need to focus on a set point on the face and compare movement of single parts to a programmed set of emotions. This point is most commonly the root of the nose, which a robot would stare at all the time. You, on the other hand, make eye contact like a human: Focusing on a single eye, and rapidly switching between both. That is nothing a robot would do.”  
“Oh.”

“Another thing: Your mouth. I can guess where the sound device of your... where it is located. But you still move the majority of the parts a human would need to produce speech. Even advanced robots have not yet figured out why a human would need a tongue. Okay, you might not have one, but you move your jaw as if.”

Surprised, Springtrap put a hand on the lower halve of his face, and wiggled it around a little.

“I... I have no tongue? What?”

“See. That's just the next thing. A robot always knows what its parts do.”  
“It does?”

“Indeed. Believe me, I know. I studied Industrial Logistics, and was trained to work with robots, since they are the backbone of Luna's economy.”

“Wow.” he seemed genuinely impressed “You... you went to university? Isn't that like, extremely difficult?”

“Well, it's not exactly easy, but when you stick to it, you'll make it. At least in Europe. Took them a while, but people over there finally figured out that educated humans are an extremely important resource, and that both politics and economy have to care for them.”

“So... you were in Europe. Maybe in England?”  
“No. I studied in Germany.”

“I see...”

“Why are you asking?”  
“Urm, maybe I have a hard time imagining someone who knows more than one language. I mean... English is not one of the official languages in the Federation, right? Unless the UK joined while I was away.”  
“They did not. Continuing their course of isolationism. English is only a secondary language within the EF. Most people talk either French, German, or Swedish.”

“And you?”  
“I'm fluent in German, and know some Swedish, but won't put myself in a fight with one.”  
“Wow... and... how... how is Europe? Are they really as haughty as they seem?”  
“Somewhat. They have... rather high standards in most things, and... you could call them a little overzealous when they try to make up for past mistakes. Let's say, as long as you try to do your part, they'll like you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Maybe it's different on Luna. Okay, the Arcologies are named after big cities, so people from that particular country tend to live there, but overall, we're a mixed people. That.. does something to bring different types together. Or maybe it's just a special kind of person who moves up. Who knows.”  
“Why are you up there?”

Samantha looked away for the first time, seemed to think about her answer.

“You... could say... I was little tired of being the daughter of the 'Wicked Witch of the East'.”

“The what?”

She focused again on his face.

“That is the name media gave my mother.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”  
“I am sorry.”

“Don't be. We need to talk about her anyway, so... that might be just the point to start.”

Springtrap nodded, a little worried, but still.

“We both know a different side of the same person.” he said “I... I can not... imagine that she... that you grew up with her. And still sit here, having all your limbs and your mind intact.”

“I know some things about what she did but... She was really... that evil?”

Now, it was Springtrap's turn to break eye contact.

“I cleaned up after her. And hide... what... what she left. Often enough... you... couldn't tell that it was a human corpse.”

“A kid's corpse.”

He nodded.

“But that is not all, isn't it?” Samantha asked further “I mean... she did more.”

Again, he nodded.

“To you.”

Nodding.

A little irritated by Springtrap's reactions, Samantha turned around to look at Dr. Piers and Vincent. Both had been quite so far, but now they looked concerned.

“I lied.” said Springtrap suddenly.

All three looked at him, who still was starring at the wall.

“In... in my... diary, I lied. I did not hurt myself that often. Actually, beside my suicide attempts, I was too much of a coward to do anything serious. The true reason that I spend the last years of my life constantly bruised...”

He pulled his ears to cover the eyes, and stayed quite.

Which allowed Samantha to get up and walk back to the two men.

“I'm sorry.” she said with a lowered voice “I thought he...”

“We saw some pictures and had our speculations.” said Dr. Piers, cautiously glancing at Springtrap “Injuries in that degree are hard to produce by self harming, and in fact, it often happens that victims of abuse try to... well. What exactly happened?”

“She almost killed him on several occasions. And was... in general not very gentle during the... act. At least that is what she told me.”

“It's okay.” said Springtrap “Just... just talk normally.”

“Mr. Afton, should we-”  
“No. It... actually, it is... quite nice that this bubble got busted. I... am not sure if I would ever been able to talk about this myself.” he sighed, deeply, and let his ears go “Sorry. Just... let's just talk more. What did she do after my death? Was she still working at this food factory?”

Samantha sat down at her chair, not sure if it was that much of a good idea to stick to the topic, but Springtrap seemed calm again.

“Not that I would remember. She worked at a pastry shop in a somewhat better part of Boston. I mean, she was a trained confectioner.”  
“Ah, yes, that I remember. She said that she would like to work in a store instead of the factory... she was a damn good baker.”

“Yes. That was her passion.”  
“Beside murder.”

“Yes.”

“So... was there... a replacement? For me?”  
Samantha thought a moment about her respond.

“I wouldn't say this, no. Sure, she had guys coming and going, and some of them aided her in a murder or two, but...”  
“Those were able to walk away on their own?”

“As far as I remember...”  
“So they were not her type. Figured that. One had to look like a teen to turn her on. And she only got her funny tools out when she was really horny.”  
“You seem not very upset right now.”  
“Why would I. That little shameful secret is open now. I probably will go through a rough night or three and might need a day or three to be able to look into the doc's eyes again but hey, that's just how it is.”

“Should we talk about something else?”  
“If you want to. But... I mean, there is nothing else connecting us. You probably liked her. Before you knew. So. I don't really want to... throw dirt.”  
“It's impossible to make her any dirtier.”

“Did you know she started her little sex n' kill adventures with baby animals?”

“Wow. You really made her worse.”

“I know.” again, Springtrap sighed “But you're probably right. It's not smart to fill our time here with her. She didn't deserve that. Just one more question.”  
“Shout it.”

“Did she... ever explain _why_ she was doing all this?”

Samantha looked at the bunny, confused.

“Why?”  
“Yes, why. You know, if I learned something in here, then that humans have reasons to do what they do. Nobody is a murderer from day one. I spend some years thinking about this. Well, when I was sane enough to do some thinking at all. But I never got any answer. Even here in therapy... I got to learn why I acted like I did. Not that it would excuse anything or so, but it explains how I became what I am today. But I never got this idea about Lucy.”

“I don't know. I've asked myself this question some times, but... now that you mention it... no, she did not say a single word about any... reasons.”

“Hm. Did you meet her parents?”  
“They were both dead before I was born.”  
“Any other part of family?”  
“No. She was a single child. Her parents where immigrants, but I never got to know from where.”

“Too bad.” said Springtrap, crossing his arms “That's really something I would like to know. What insanity drives a women to rip children into pieces after violently raping them?”

“I don't know.”

“Me neither. I might be able to look for her damned soul in the Rooms, but I am not stupid enough to do this. So we might never know the answer.”

“Excuse me? What room?”  
“Ah, forget this. That's too much right now. I'm planning to explain this on Easter. Don't want to tell the same unbelievable shit again and again.”

“You seem angry.”

Springtrap looked up, stare at her. Samantha was still impressed how detailed this face was. How smooth all those parts moved that were significant for a human's expression.

“I _am_ angry. Cause I have to work on my stupid selfish attitude.”

“Selfish?”  
“Yes, selfish. This whole story is about me being selfish. I put my own happiness before the god damned _life_ of children. Sure I regret it, but that doesn't change anything. And now... even now I am selfish. All the time I just had a single wish: That this one evening in 1980 would have turned me in one of her victims, and not her sidekick.”

“And what is selfish about this?”

He glanced at Vincent, than again looked at her.

“My brother would probably not be alive today if I died. And... you would never been born.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**12.04.2020 - Easterbunny** (Project Specter: 17 final)

 

 

They had set up a real egg hunt. A great time for the kids. Whenever they found one of the lovely colored eggs they bounced around happily, showing their price to the grownups. Of course, the little nests with their chocolate treasures where appreciated, too.

Samantha had quite a time watching the four Afton grandchildren running through the garden, searching every greening bush and each cluster of blooming spring flowers for some nest.

She was sitting in the gazebo, together with what remained of the family – with Clara and Mark both not available. The first because she had had her second child just two months earlier, the later because of a sudden outbreak of influenza in Kenya. That was three adults and two kids behind the possible maximum. So there were 'only' ten adults and four children in school age: Lucas and Heather, with their Mathew, and the twins Annabell and Finn. Oliver and Mike, and their adopted daughter Emily. John, Lily, Shu, and herself. Plus two grandparents. Quite the extending clan, indeed. In her earlier life, Samantha never had had the opportunity to be a part of a larger group, and much less a family member. Maybe that had been one of the reasons for her to move to the Moon. People there had no choice but work together. But right now, there were things going on inside of her which she always thought not to be meant for her. And yet, she was here. Sitting in a porch dotted with fragrant flowers, watching some kids loosing it whenever they found a colored egg. All while she had pleasant smalltalk with people who introduced themselves as family.

Parents had been put off-duty. Watching Vincent and Olivia enjoying their time as pawpaw and nana, guiding the little ones, or laying out false tracks. But whenever some particularly nice egg popped up, it had to be shown to someone. So far, the new 'moon auntie' had to watch over five very special eggs. Which made her second in rank. Only Mike, Oliver's husband, had more. An that was only fair, since he had painted most of them the evening before. They were really nice. Almost too precious to be eaten. That of course didn't prevent the kids from annihilating quite a bunch of them for brunch, which surprised Samantha. In her own youth, chocolate and sweets had been far more interesting than boiled eggs. But then again she used to be a single kid, with a sweet tooth for a mother. Overall, the food Vincent dished out was lovely. Even more so since she was used to quickly prepared functional food, which was still somewhat common on the Moon.

With everyone busy caring for the kids or chatting, and Vincent constantly running from kitchen to living room and back again, it was still somehow sensible that people were... a little excited. Samantha found them often looking at the clock, or being exceptional alert whenever Vincent started to talk. More than one time was she tempted to bring up the whole subject of her father, but Vincent had asked her not to.

Just after teatime – the cake was great – and with the kids playing outside, Vincent closed the doors and windows of the dining room, and finally sat down in a manner that suggested something important to come.

He looked around, at his gathered family.

“Okay. I kept you on hold long enough.” he started “Thanks for being patient, by the way. There... are quite some things I need to tell you, before you finally got to meet your uncle. My brother.”

 

 

“Well, thanks for doing my work.” said Springtrap a little bit saucily “Now I can cross out halve of the speech I have prepared.”

“You even have notes, right?” asked Vincent with a sly grin.

“Exactly.”

“Where?”

“Saved on the stick I build in some time ago. So I won't mix up some paper.”

“That's handy.” responded the older brother.

It was already dark outside. Not much traffic on the roads, since most people were home spending Easter with their families.

“Anything else you already told them?”

“No. Only how you ended up being a bunny.”

“Including my criminal deeds?”

“Yes.”

“How did they react?”

“What do you think, hm?”

“The worst, probably.”

“Tch. Well. Oliver remembered that whole scenario from police academy. Samantha had quite some things to say, too. And Olivia and Shu already knew. The others were... Hm. I would not say shocked. I mean, someone popping up after thirty two years without a story to tell is nothing they expected anyway. But basically... I think you need to explain it to them. Because of this whole living-doubt-unless-an-undead-tells-them thing.”

“And... that's it?”

“Indeed.”

“You tell me they shrug of the fact that-”

“No, they did not. They listened, they asked questions, they discussed about this. But what are they supposed to do? As proud as I am of my genius children, even by putting all their knowledge together they won't be able to invent a time machine. If you really want to know their reaction, is was something close to 'Oh shit, how can we as a family help'.”

Springtrap didn't say anything in respond, and just watched the surrounding area change. Single family homes. Most of them lit. Decently colorful Easter decoration all around.

Then, Vincent pulled into one particular entry.

Carefully, Springtrap glanced out of the van's window at the large house in front of him.

“Wow.”

“Thanks. Build it myself.” said Vincent with a smirk.

“Really?!”

“Hah. Only partially. The company I was working for at that time did take a risk in granting me a credit. I had nothing on me but my good will and some folk who trusted me. Handing out a credit was nothing that happened in those years.”

“I don't see the problem?”

“William... What was a dollar's worth some years ago is now ten dollars. Credit is a dead end when inflation hits. I promised my employer that I would pay them back the actual value, not just the numbers. And I did.”

“Oh... ooooh... okay. Okay, what would I pay today for a slice of pizza and a coke?”

“Something around eighty bucks.”

“Woah. It was thirty at my time!”

“And it was three when we were kids. That's at least what I heard, since we couldn't afford that anyway.”

“Urm... wait. We paid just around thirty thousands for that white suit, right? I'm bad at math and all but I certainly did not own that much when I died, did I? And when what I had is much less worth today...”

Vincent looked away a second. Which made Springtrap curious.

“You... did not put actual money in my bank account, didn't you?”

“Of course not. But I sold your car.”

“Which was surely not-”

“Worth around eight million European Guilders at that time.”

Springtrap's mouth remained open, and his brother padded his shoulder.

“It was a PDC, William. A Russian brand. Almost everything they ever made got literally nuked out of this world. And per chance, I knew someone who knew some guy in France whose wife was a collector.”

“And you put all that fuckingly stupid cash in my dead ass account?”

“Of course not! Our inflation normalized just seven years ago. I hold your belongings, including your account, in trust, so I was supposed to work against loss caused by inflation. Put the cash somewhere else so it wouldn't lose its value. To be perfectly honest, Olivia did most of the fancy stuff, as she did with our own finances. I guess everyone who could afford this did it during bankruptcy. Only when... well, when I learned that you were no longer missing, I started to put everything back where it belongs. Beside this, I promise you, we never took anything from you or put in something.”

“Wow.” said Springtrap, finally shutting his mouth again “You tell me that I have a fuckload of bucks on my name just to make me think of something else right now, aren't you?”

“Maybe.”

“Worked. Let' get in there before that coward bunny gets back in charge.”

And they finally left the van.

And climbed the stairs.

And when they went through the actual front door, Springtrap let out a tiny squeak.

“Shit. That fucker's a quick runner.”

“He is as welcome here as you are.” said Vincent, his voice calm and soft.

“But I hate him.”

“He has a good reason to be here. Meeting foreign people is stressful. This is normal. You will see and learn that you can trust these people, as you trust me. And more important: You will learn that you can trust yourself.”

“Oh great, and then, someone dies.”

Vincent pulled his brother in for a hug.

“See. That is precisely what I mean. You will move away from that. It will never happen again. I trust you.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“I try. I really do. I don't want to be that selfish moron only thinking about his own problems.”

“Selfcare is in no way selfish.”

“Okay, I put it into other words... You said that you get happy when you make me happy. So, in order for me to make myself happy, I need to combine these two concepts. Me happy, you happy. That's what I want. And that means I need to mind other peoples' needs as well as my own.”

Springtrap sighed. And did so a second time, before finally leaving his brother embrace.

“You know, this kind of thing could have gotten us in trouble some decades ago.”

“Yes. And I am glad this stupidity is leaving peoples' minds nowadays.” answered Vincent “Just imagine how many years I... we both have waited to do this. I know that it offers you some support. It does the same for me. So, what's wrong about... men just wanting to be mentally healthy? Just having normal human needs?”

“Urgh... wound point maybe? Sorry.”

“Let's say, I've seen and heard enough stupid people running their mouths in my time. Including my own. So. Now, let's move to your reason being here.”

“Erm... personally I like your hallway very much.”

“If you're more comfortable in here, I get the family and-”

“Did I say hallway I meant car.”

“... would be a little bit crowded, but we probably could make it work.” Vincent smiled “Hey, come on. It's just my kids, my wife, and your daughter.”

Springtrap nodded.

And they made their way to the living room.

And... it didn't turn out to be the walk to court Springtrap had expected. There wasn't an assembly of harsh and formidable looking younger copies of Vincent sporting a slightly disapproving but overall bothered expression. Actually, there were just three people sitting at the huge table right now: Samantha, Shu, and... a younger copy of William. Who, for some reason, was wearing a saucer on his head while pulling quite some face. Whatever it was the three had been talking about, it made the two women laugh.

When Springtrap and Vincent entered, the small group looked up, shared a quick glance at each other, and said in unison:

“Hi dad.”

And the young William even lifted his saucer hat.

Out of the kitchen came an older woman, probably Olivia. Before Springtrap knew what was happening, she hugged him.

“It's so nice to finally meet you in person!” she said.

“You will regret it soon enough.” responded Springtrap automatically, then, after blinking “I mean: Hi, you too, nice house!”

She just smiled.

“Ah yes. Restructuring thought patterns. Good to see that you are on the way.”

Some more people entered. Again, looking quite like-

“Oh my god.” said Springtrap “Vincent, you didn't tell me that you have a super hero for a son!”

The addressed Oliver looked down at himself.

“Well, I do in fact lift.”

“The heck you do.” responded Springtrap “Do you even get out of your shirt each night? Or are you just, like, flexing a little to pop it?”

The other man next to Oliver – who looked basically the same, just less muscular – sported a grin.

“Seems you got a new fan, brother.”

“Seems so. I like him. He's asking the right questions.”

“Okay so, you're the twins. First generation, anyway.” and the two men nodded simultaneously, just when yet another person came in from the hallway.  
Probably Lilly. Her skin several shades darker than that of the others around, hair and eyes a dark, warm brown. She smiled upon seeing him. And what a smile that was. Her entire face was lightening up. It was a little bit like a sunrise.

“A buff super hero, AND a fairy godmother. Are you kidding me?! Oh wait, the other twin is a veterinary, the third twin an astrophysicist. Oh, and a robotics genius is also here. And those two not here where what? Doctor and...”

“Clara is a spacecraft engineer.” answered Vincent.

“Wow. Just wow.” he pulled a chair, sat down, and stared at the table “So, hi. I'm Vincent's brother. And what else I am you already know.”

“A robotic suit that somehow got infused by the soul of a human.” said Shu in a rather unimpressed tone “And I waited aaaaall the time to get to hear the full story.”

“Shu. Don't be so pushing.”

“Oh c'mon dad. The smalltalk can wait. You didn't tell me all when I fixed him. I mean, it is physically impossible that he is... a singularity made of electricity. That would require him to be both negatively and positively charged. I made some calculations, and these speak volumes that there has to be more about this all.”

“But...”

“She's right, Vincent.” said Springtrap without looking up “I primarily came here to do you a favor, and to explain some stuff. So that's maybe just a good starter, since I prepared for this.”

At least Olivia, Shu, and Samantha seemed genuinely exited to finally get to the core of this more than just uncommon situation, with the others somewhat skeptical.

“So. Let's get the main topic out, then. Once upon a time... Okay, no, that's too boring. I just say it: I am dead. Dead. D-E-A-D. I don't exactly know how much Vincent told you, but I used to work for some entertaining business which had these animatronic figures running around. As far as I know today, this was all just a facade for an other company, Fazaka Robotics Industries, to test their robots. I make it short, these things were meant to be killer machines. Fazaka build an army. So, at my place, we had a bunch of experimental robots, which were supposed to look innocent at daytime, but turn into murderbots in the night. My personal crimes with kidnapping kids so they could get murdered and I get a nice time as reward just fitted in nicely. Okay, that's that. Now comes the funny part. These here robots are actually suits. I learned that all golden costumes were part of quite a special experiment, called 'Project Specter'. They were meant to malfunction. That happened to me. The costume completely destroyed my body. Normally, I would just be dead. But that's exactly the whole thing about these specters. The suit not only killed me, but kept my very soul here. Got this part? Because what comes now will certainly get to your cores. There is something like an afterlife. All that religious talk about soul and spirit and heaven and hell is not entirely wrong. There is this living world here, where mortals run around and frolic being alive and such. And then we have the Fading Rooms. Don't try to question this, it's no use. I learned this name, at it fits. Every dead person I met so far called them this. It just is... right. Okay. So. The single purpose of the Fading Rooms is, to take the soul of a dead person in, and offering them... something. I still don't know the reason. The Rooms shape. They will form a path for you. Each person will get their very own version of a life after death. The Rooms know what you think to be right, and will shape themselves to fit your expectation. So, whatever you believe in, the Rooms will present it to you. That is, if you died a natural death. If you entered the rooms before your time was up, they are not done laying out your path. You may get lost. Some ghosts return here and do stuff. You so far got me? Great. Now comes even more stupid shit. This... nature... character of the Rooms... it is some sort of power. The ghosts I met call it 'eldritch'. It is the source of shaping, changing, illusion and bending. The lifeblood of the Rooms, so to speak. When a ghost decides to come back into the living world, they may take only a tiny portion of these... eldritch energies with them, and use it to interact with the living world. When they run out, they fade away and are forced back into the Rooms. And this often means they will be gone for good, since gathering more power is almost impossible for a ghost to do. Them's the rules. What has this to do with me? And what has this to do with that murderous robot franchise? Well. It's easy, once you get your mind on this track. Robots need power. Fazaka tried to build an entire army for whatever stupid shit was going on in their sick brains. I do not know where they got their knowledge about the other side. But Project Specter's ultimate goal was, to create a source of infinite power. And that is what I am. Listen closely: I am not only dead. I am _undead_. That is special. A flaw in the rules, maybe. But certainly something the system is not really prepared to handle. It doesn't happen naturally, but seems like there were many undead through human history. There are methods to keep a ghost linked to this living world. But I died. That means, the border between life and death is open to me. The Veil. I can – unlike living – freely travel into the Rooms. And now comes the important part. I can take as much eldritch power out of the afterlife as I want. The Rooms are supposed to shape for me, but can't, since I am not dead enough. So they... try maybe to shape for me on this side of the Veil. I am sort of a short circuit in this system, funneling energy out of the Fading Rooms into this world. Energy that is not meant to be here. That is able to easily fuck up every and all laws of nature and physics. _That_ it the actual source of the power I am producing. That is the reason Fazaka needed a human's soul. To punch a hole into the Veil, and keep their armies supplied with electricity. My suit here is a prototype. The original plan was, to eradicate the actual person, so it could be controlled like every other robot. That did not happen to me. Yes, there are programmed things running around in my... me. Most of what the specter was supposed to do exists within myself. But I have my free will intact and can therefor move outside of the coding. So. That was my speech. Now you know. Questions?”

He still did not look up. Mainly to avoid people's disbelieving stares.

The room was silent.

“So you tell me you are sort of a zombie, producing electricity?” asked Shu, after two heavy-weighted minutes went by.

“Sort of.”

“Okay... Okay, I try to get this in. Let's be frank: That should be impossible.”

Springtrap shrugged, lifted his hand, and between his fingertips, tiny lightnings flickered.

“You just said it yourself. In order for me be a source of electrical current I'd need to break one or three laws of physics. I think the number is a little bit higher.”

“If this is true, then why... is this is the first time I heard something like this?” asked Oliver.

“You are the police guy, right? I bet you at least read about the Silverman-case. It was me solving this by talking to a ghost.”

“Oh... I... I don't know.” was the answer “There was something, yes. Wasn't it just some squatter?”

“No. It was the enraged ghost of the former owner.”

“Okay. I'm having a headache now.”

“Indeed. I don't know why, but... any... information... okay. Let's try it the other way around. Living people have no business with the Fading Rooms. If everything would just work like it is supposed to be, you won't have any contact with them. A ghost that dies naturally is absorbed by the Rooms, the illusion is perfect. They will never come back. You would never know. But this is not how it is. I guess the Rooms just try to keep the living oblivious. Whatever you believe will become your personal truth anyway, so why bother you with the mechanics? You doubt. You forget. You mix it up. You make up stories. Fun thing: none of these are false, since the Rooms will give you what you expect.”

“So... we will forget what you just told us?” asked Samantha, with a hint of disappointment.

“You would if I was a living. I mean, come one. What some dude has to say about life after death... who would buy this anyway?”

“Right...”

“A ghost could tell you. But the living cannot hear or talk to ghosts. I learned that some people who are... close to the other side, may develop some sort of sixth sense, so they are able to feel if a ghost is near. And some might even be able to see them. But communication is almost impossible, that would cost the ghost too much eldritch power. And now, there is me. I am dead. I have been at the other side. You... you feel this. Whatever the Rooms do with your minds to make them forget stops when you talk to me. You will remember it. You will even believe it. Despite all the clash and crash with your understanding of reality. I mean... most of you are studied, right? But no one laughed. What little doubt you had will be gone in a minute or three.”

“But then, why won't we know more about undead people? If it happened before, I mean, there's supposed to be some information, right?” again it was Shu asking.

“Yes, but you doubt it. And when people doubt something, they will change it to be more like what they think to be right. You all here know. You will remember. But the second you try to tell this to someone else, it will be nothing but claptrap to them, because it doesn't fit what they think to be right. I am... some sort of higher instance in this matter, you know this, and believe me. Whatever people had to write or say about the other side during history was warped by mysticism, religion, and science.”

“So it needs come straight from an undead?”

“Exactly.”

“And this means there are _other_ undead, somewhere.”

“Not that many, probably. Whatever... strange... technology is needed to... turn a human into an undead follows the same rules as everything connected to the Rooms. That knowledge will be lost soon. Will be turned into something else, something that doesn't work.”

“But... but how... is someone able to produce many many... erm, specter suits, if this knowledge isn't preservable?”

“By telling a lie. The research papers I read always talk about the specter being an electrical singularity. Not a single time they talked about anything close to the truth. Either they don't know this, or... whoever is behind this was able to trick the system.”

“Oh boy. Hey. Hey! Wait, that means... means you won't die, right?” blurted John suddenly, and he seemed quite impressed.

Springtrap nodded.

“Oh wow. Wow! I mean, hey, you will be around when humans settle Mars! You will... hey! You will here when we make first contact to other sapient life!”

“I will loose everyone. Again and again.”

“Pah, people are replaceable. Just think about this: You watch our species grew. Oh boy how cool is that!”

Finally, Springtrap looked up, just to glance confused, and maybe a little bit angry, at his overly excited nephew.

“Are you mad?”

“No, I mean it! That's just so cool! You could... learn every single science, you could just jump into research without worrying that you might die before you are able to see the results. Imagine it, you could be some sort of guide, leading people into a better future.”

“I am barely smart enough to understand what is going on inside of me, how would I be able to... no. Just no. This is not right. This is not how it is supposed to be. I will never be able to leave this world behind for good. The Rooms have no path to offer to me. There is no peace to find. Do you really think this would be enjoyable?”

“Not exactly that, but useful!”

“Ah yes. Because being _useful_ is the single reason of human existence. Being a tool for society to play around with. The place I worked for had a nice phrase for this: Remember to smile!” scoffed Springtrap “Boy, you are as insane as the monsters who came up with this horrible murdering tool here. I know I did bad things in my lifetime, but robbing a human of their final rest is unspeakably cruel. Just imagine I would take your brain out of your body and put you into a robot, against your will. Because this is basically what happened to me. Without this here suit I would be just a sapient spark of power. Helpless. I need technology to speak. To hear, to smell. To do anything that makes life meaningful. And you think this is cool? Madman.”

John seemed to rethink. He quickly looked at his siblings, and parents, who seemed rather disapproval.

“But... you could learn and see so much...”

“Like Earth being swallowed by the Sun? If I remember correctly, this is what will happen someday, right?”

“Well, in approximately five billion years...”

“Oh yes, after all these cool things I've watched by then, I'd love to see it all go boom. Funny thing tho: Not even the Sun will put me out. I will stumble around, bound to this rotten old trashcan here, until the end of time. Maybe even longer. Who knows. I will probably be one of the last things around when the universe goes boom, too. Will be nice. All stars out and dark, every form of life dead. Just me and all those miserable people who had the bad luck being permanently locked out of the afterlife. Sounds good, right?”

“Hey... I just tried to be a little positive here.”

Springtrap sighed, and put his head on the table.

“You are undoubtedly Vincent's son.”

“Thank you!”

At least, John's proud respond made Springtrap smile a little bit.

“There is still this thing I wonder about.” said Lucas, while taking a seat “If there is something like a soul... where is it? Is there some body part that contains it? Some organ maybe?”

“I don't know.”

“But... how is it connected to the body?”

“The better question would be why exactly these... Rooms behave like they do.” responded Oliver, sitting down next to his twin.

“Or how they know what we think.” added Olivia “I mean, that would suggest someone... or something is reading or minds, at any given moment. A rather unsettling thought.”

“That would require an extremely dense network for transmission of information in real-time.” was Samantha's point “And some sort of omnipotent central processing unit.”

“See. And this is why living are not supposed to know.” answered Springtrap without lifting his head “You are thinking too mortal about this all.”

“Then maybe enlighten us, father?”

“I can't. I don't know much about the Fading Rooms because, for me, it's just like... it is supposed to be. Also I'm as dumb as a piece of moldy bread. The things you people just asked... show that you are all much smarter than me. The last two weeks I tried to force the Rooms forming into something that would make me feel like eating pizza again. Gosh I just want some Pizza and a nice, cool coke. You have no idea. As grateful I am for this smelling stuff, the first time I smelled some Pizza I dropped and cried because I knew I couldn't have some. I will _never_ again have some stupid fucking Pizza. Oh great. Don't cry, Springtrap, just don't cry. Urgh.”

And he banged his head on the table several times.

“Well, personally I think Pizza is an important thing to want.” said Lilly, the sunshine godmother, while she sat down next to Springtrap, gently patting his shoulder.

Springtrap didn't say anything, but raised his hand, thumb up.

“But why are you calling yourself... Springtrap?”

“Oh that... it is... kinda stupid. The suit's robotic parts are retracted using springlocks. You know, this sort of thing old windup toys use. When they are wind up, a person can use this thing as a suit. And when somethings goes wrong – and that is supposed to happen - the locks break and SNAPP! Said person is mushed meat. It's not my invention, tho. Got called that by the dudes who got my rotten corpse out of that safe room I spend thirty years in and-”

“WHAT?!”

That sudden outcry was enough to make Springtrap bounce up.

“Whoa! Don't do this so near to me! Imma old man, don't need a heart attack. Ur... I have no heart.”

That sunshine niceness was nowhere to see in Lilly's face. Instead, she looked genuinely shocked.

“Just... just repeat that last part, please.”

Springtrap glanced at Vincent. Who suddenly looked quite uncomfortable.

“Maybe I didn't go that much into detail.” he said.

“Ugh, really? I should write this whole thing... hey. I DID. Why didn't you just print out my diary?”

Again, Vincent seemed not very pleased with himself.

“Maybe I didn't think that far.”

“Bah. Okay, short short very short version, and then, maybe, we talk about something nicer? Stupid William Afton jumps into this here dead trap to hide from angry ghosts. Dead trap goes snap. William dead. Employer finds him, and since employer is evil, employer bricks the room. William wakes up some time later, can't get out because wall. William sits in this very room thirty two years loosing his mind a couple of times. Some stupid idiot turns old Pizzeria in horror show. Idiot gets told about the safe room. Idiot breaks into safe room. Springtrap is moved out. And somehow ends up in prison and therapy. The end.”

A short time, people remained silent.

Finally, Olivia looked at her husband.

“Vinny, why did you skip this part?”

Vincent didn't look at her.

He just stare at his brother.

Then, finally, there were tears.

“Understood.” mumbled Olivia, pulling her husband into a hug.

“Sounds like we're finishing of the leftover cake.” said Oliver, while getting up again “Who want's some?”

 

 

“Oh would you all look at this marvel!” echoed the freezing voice through the vault.

Lance shivered. Probably all of the ghosts were in here. The air was so cold that tiny snowflakes formed, silently falling to the ground. He really had done it. He had repaired the whole specter building machine. While he had not been able to read Marionette's handwritten side notes, the blueprints were enough. The brand new specter robot was probably some unreleased character. A stag, or male deer, with golden fur and black metal antlers. Did not at all look like the corpse-filled piece of scrap metal the Marionette was so fond of, but he didn't seem to care.

“A wonderful, fully functional specter suit.” announced Marionette “Mark two. These babies turn stupid useless meatbags into sapient energy. Obeying every single order given to them, without needless thinking. A gateway to the Fading Rooms. Source of power. Sadly, it's a single use only.”

“Let me go. I did all ya told me.” said Lance, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

Simultaneously, all the robots turned their heads towards him.

“Oh don't give me that look. It's not MY fault that the machine had not enough Iridium to make more than one.”

“Indeed. You did what I wanted you to do.” said the Marionette.

The temperature just dropped another couple of degrees.

“You outlived your usefullnes.”

“So ya let me go?”

“No.”

“What a surprise, asshole. Then kill me. Either way I'll finally be free from ya shitheadin' crap.”

“Not that, either. I plan to step into Fazaka's footsteps, building an army.”

The rotten bunny grabbed Lance's neck, lifted him up.

The last thing he heard was the snapping of springlocks.

 

 

(Project Specter: End)

 


End file.
